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professionals.  If computers can be used to figure this out, then they have it covered.  I really think it’s time for you to look for a real job.”
“Fine, ya know what Teagan?  You’re a jerk.  I don’t need your help.  I can do this myself.  All I really needed was your boobs, and I don’t really need them if I’m going to be doing this all on the computer.  Besides, if I need boobs, I’ll just buy myself a pair.” 
“How are you going to pay for surgery if you can’t afford your light bill?”
“I’m not going to have surgery.  I’m talking about stuffing my bra you dink.  If I bought permanent ones, they would get in the way when I reach down to grab my foot when I’m trying to put my foot behind my head.  You gotta think about these things.”
She spoke to me as if I were a dimwitted child, “Not if you lay down to put your foot behind your head, then your boobs would be under your arms and they wouldn’t be in the way.”
“That isn’t the way it works with fabricated boobage.  They stand proud no matter what the circumstance.”
“I would just like to point out, that if you bought yourself a pair of boobs, you would no longer need to figure out how to get your foot behind your head, so it would be a moot point, but I stand corrected.”
I was able to keep my tone level, miracles do happen, “As well you should.”
“I’m going to go grab a sandwich, what do you want?”
“Nothing.  I’ve lost my appetite.   I’m going to go work on the computer for a while.”  Out I flounced.  Usually, it’s Teagan that flounces, she has a gift for it really, but even in capris and flip flops, I pulled it off, and didn’t trip or knock myself out with the door, which, I might add, is heavy and moves really fast, and has been known to be a challenge for me. 
Very impressive.  My life is improving.  It’s a sign.

 
 
 
 
FOUR
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
The one thing I hate most about Florida is the humidity.  It’s always humid.  They say you get used to it.  They lie.  Your hair always frizzes, or in my case, lays flat on your head.  Your skin doesn’t have a dewy glow like they claim; it’s a greasy mess ten minutes after you get your makeup perfect, having used all the latest greatest tricks from a mattifier, whatever the hell that really is, to a primer to a mineral powder, nothing can keep your skin from looking shiny.  Could be the reason I don’t bother with much.
Everything is limp.  Well, not every thing, but I can’t remember the last time I had a non-limp thing at hand, or should that be in hand?  Why did I go there?  Whenever I get stressed I am reminded of the fact that I have been a very good girl for a very long time.
I can’t remember the last time I wasn’t living a chaste life. 
God knows I would rather be living a chased life.  Preferably being chased by some tall, dark and handsome male with a very high level of skill when it comes to all things sexual and a very very understanding spirit when it comes to extended family and t-shirts instead of lacy bras, but, what can ya do?  
Mr. Right is out there somewhere, getting the tar beat out of his wee little heart by Ms. what-the-hell-was-I-thinking, she-is-such-a-bitch, right this very minute so that he can learn to appreciate a woman such as myself.  That would be me, Ms. Dear-Lord-where-has-she-been-all-my-life, she-is-perfect-for-me.
 
One of the things I love about Florida is most days of the year I can drive with my top down.  The top of my car, not my t-shirt, not that anyone would notice, but if anyone did, and they were to point and laugh, it would ruin my whole day, so I’ve never tried it. 
But really, if you stop and think about it, the door comes up high enough that the only people that would really be able to see in the car to see that I wasn’t just wearing a tube top would be truckers.  Aren’t truckers often long haul drivers?  Long haul drivers have been away from home for a