No one would say that Myra Valentine was not pretty, or was rude, or unkind. However, what the sweet, beautiful girl had in spades, she made up for with what some would call a deficit of common sense and a severe lack of coordination. So, when she found herself stuck in the mud along a winding country road on a warm November day, it wasn't much of a shock. The thing about Myra that made her life a series of frustrations, was that she knew she made poor choices. No matter how hard she tried to make good ones, somehow, they always seemed to backfire. The thing about Myra's poor choices, was that they usually started out seeming like perfectly good ones.

For example: Myra was an amazingly talented artist. The kind of woman who saw beauty in everything and never met a color she didn't like. She found herself on her current adventure because she'd seen a lush, green field, full of grazing cows which she’d been unable to pass without recreating the beauty of it on one of her canvases.

Myra's mother and father fully supported her artistic endeavors, which was probably why she felt so free to pursue the things that caught her fancy. Her father hung her photographs and paintings all over their considerably large estate and at his office, while her mother constantly bragged about Myra's work to the ladies who came for weekly afternoon tea.

Now, she stepped out of the sensible Prius she insisted on driving, despite her father's protests that she have something larger, and sighed as she surveyed the place where her rear tire was stuck in the mud. With an inward cringe, she chewed on her bottom lip while thinking about the grief she would endure if she had to call her brother to bail her out.

Again.

Oh, Keegan Valentine would never say he wished his little sister wouldn’t call him so much, but she knew he had to be tired of getting her out of the messes she made. She was tired of the messes she made, and this time was no different. Myra hadn’t thought about the fact that the fields and backroads would be soft because of the previous day's rain. Her only thought was for the beauty of the blue sky, the green grass, and the black and white cows.

With another sigh, she retrieved her phone from the front seat of her car and dialed her insurance’s roadside service. At least she had that going for her. Her father didn’t pay for her insurance, so he wouldn’t hear about this until she told him. Also, she didn’t have to call on Keegan, even though he was only a few miles away at their parent’s house.

* * *

About an hour later, Myra heard the tow truck rumbling up the road and closed the paints she'd been experimenting with during the wait. She waved cheerfully in the truck’s direction while picking her way through the thick grass, then squeezed her small frame between the strands of barbed wire fence, breathing a sigh of relief at not ripping any of her clothes. She watched the driver expertly maneuver the big truck to the front of her vehicle and hop out of the cab.

Instantly, Myra was aware of how large the man was. That wasn't so out of the ordinary, since just about everyone towered over her. The thing that made her uneasy, was the way he grinned as he walked towards her. For a fleeting moment, she thought that maybe she should have called her brother.

"Thanks for getting here so quickly." She remarked, offering a smile, hoping her nerves weren’t showing. No worries there. The man never saw the smile, because his eyes were unabashedly fixed on her breasts. It was a thing. She always wore clothing that covered her completely, but she couldn’t hide the size of her chest.

"I'm glad I'm the one who got the call." He replied without looking at her face.

Myra rolled her eyes, turning to gesture at her car.

"As you can see, I've gotten stuck."

"Yup. I sure can see that.” The man gave his gum a rolling chew. “You just sit tight. Ol’ Bill’ll have you out in a jiffy.”

He winked.

"Thank you." She sighed.

She didn't feel like saying thank you, but she said it anyway. What was she thanking him for? For staring at her boobs? For giving her a once over and dismissing her as a dumb blond, stuck on the side of the road? And who referred to themselves in third-person anyway?

Men looked at her breasts. This was a fact she’d accepted in ninth grade when she was already twice the size of her classmates. Her situation wasn’t helped at all by having blonde hair and blue eyes. Myra was a walking stereotype and she knew it. Just because she'd accepted it however, that didn't mean she liked it. It didn’t mean she felt the sting of dismissal any less, or the uneasiness that came with a man’s wandering eyes roving her body.

She watched her baby be pulled from its muddy prison, deposited safely back on the road, and hoped the driver would be on his way quickly.

“Ol’ Bill” hopped down from his cab, clipboard in hand.

"I just need you to sign for me." He indicated the place for her signature and she scrawled her name.

"Thank you, again." She offered with as much sincerity as she could muster.

"Oh, it is my pleasure to serve such a beautiful lady." He took another rolling chew of his gum and grinned that grin that let her know he'd already undressed her in his mind, and had probably done some things to her that she wouldn’t want to know about.

“You ok now? Need anything else?" Bill asked hopefully.

"No. No, I'm perfectly fine. Thank you." She gave a half shrug and a small wave, hoping that would be enough to send him on his way. Thankfully, it was. Bill climbed into his truck and drove off with a quick salute.

Assessing the sky, Myra figured there were still a few good hours of daylight, so she decided to finish as much of her painting as she could. Getting back to her parent's house as the sun dipped would be for the best. It would lessen the chances of someone seeing that dent on her wheel well before she could give an explanation to her father.