Ingram

I can’t help the chuckle that escapes me as I take in the site of Jeff the mail boy at work and his way too tight jeans. Jeff is my usual fare, my menu of choice if you will since the man has to dislocate his ankles to get into those pants.

Which makes him damn near perfect for me because guaranteed, those balls of his are one of two things; shrivelled or so overheated ain’t nothing worthwhile coming out of them.

You think I’m weird but in the days when I secretly went to college to study IT and a little business-no one knows and I want to keep it that way thank you-I had these long conversations with my study buddies, a bunch of nerds and scientists.

My best nerd pal Amy was studying medicine because she wanted to specialise in gyno and fertility and she’d traumatise my brain for hours with little facts that severely stunted my appetite for whole days.

And I learned something. Hot balls could possibly play an important role in a man’s potency. Seeing as I will never be down with unleashing my get upon innocent humans, I started tailoring my specific needs to men who wear tight pants, play contact sports or work in jobs that could expose them to non-effective nut buddies.

The moral of my weird decline into nerd-dom is that I learnt all about what may or may not be wise choices for a gal like me and I have managed to stay clear of potent men with viable balls.

At least I did until I met freaking Russell and started having these dreams that no self respecting modern lady should have. Shudder worthy thoughts about babies and kissing him when he walks through the door after a long day at work. I even looked at Martha Stewart’s website! As if I actually care about that domestic stuff.

What is wrong with me?

“So Teddy says like let’s all go to the cabin this weekend and like have a nature weekend and I was like, man, we should totally do that and like, connect with ourselves, like without phones or anything like that. So, you wanna go with me?”

I almost swallow my tongue when those words spew out of his mouth and feel every cell in my skin go dry with revulsion. I do not do nature. The closest I get to that crap is the park and I only go there to laugh at the male yoga dudes and fat joggers.

“Er-”

“It will be like so totally great Ing. We’re going back to our roots.”

I look at Jeff and have the immediate urge to slap him silly and run. What the heck! This guy’s roots are deeply anchored in technology and irony, which by the way is not irony. Ever. Don’t think the man even understands the meaning of that delicious word.

He’s more like the little guy from The Big Bang Theory with his small pants and baby soft hands. Plus he has gross allergies, one of the reasons we’ve only been on two dates and had absolutely no sex.

Alright! And I may be having a hard time with actually sleeping with other men again. Damn you, Russell Mark.

“Jeff, honey, I don’t think we can claim roots in the wilderness unless they’re firmly imbedded in the concrete jungle. Those roots would be like, Chinese take-out and local Coffee Bean stores.”

“Come ooon. It will be great and you were saying you wanted to get away from life and just find yourself again.” He coaxes, blowing his nose with a honk that has other diners turning to stare. Gross.

Finding myself would be a lot easier if I could wallow in a vat of red wine and marshmallow truffles. Or murder, I mean I’m not picky at this point. But nature?

“Uh.”

Don’t panic. This could be great. Fresh air, trees. No Russell or Mari, who by the way has been calling me at two every morning like the creepy gargoyle she is.

“Sure?”

“Yeah! And we even get to share a bunk. How cool is that.”

Yeah. How cool.

***********

“Oh my God, take me now.”

I keep glancing at the ‘cabin’ and having flashbacks of that horror movie where Kevin Bacon bit the big time and that weird creepy dude is just waiting under the water with his conveniently placed machete and a hockey mask that only God knows where he got it from.

It’s legitimately creeping me the heck out and that’s without me having to look at the hipsters currently staring at the rustic cabin that’s seen better days. Like sixty years ago.

I do not want to be here. At all. And that’s before Rainbow started having bright ideas about rowing out on the water and fishing. If that maniac pops out of the water, little Rainbow is chum while I row back to shore like an Iron Man wannabe. I swear to Jesus.

Maybe mama was right, I think hysterically as a ripple on the water’s surface makes me cringe. Maybe I will die an ignominious death at the hands of a maniac and she will have to have a closed casket for me.

“Aw come on Ing, isn’t it great! No phones or electricity. It’s disconnecting from everything!” Teddy says excitedly as I stomp onto the porch and shove the door open, squelching a scream of terror when I see bunk beds! Quilts. And those little doilie things that other people love but give me the jeebs.

Should have stayed in the city and dodged Russell while self-medicating just to get through Mari’s interrogations. God why! Why do you give me choices, I ask silently, dropping my back pack and falling into a chair that not only groans in protest but covers me in so much dust I can’t see through the cloud that surrounds me.

“But, but the cabin next door has power, I saw the lines. And it was big and clean and, and it’s not gross like this one. Nature is great, but we’re not animals.” I whine, gagging at the thick layer of dust that settled on my tongue.

“Oh that’s the one Teddy’s folks rent out in the spring. This one is free.”

“Yeah, because they should be paying people to want to live in it!”

“Come one, look at the bunks. It’s gonna be an authentic experience.”

Authentic? Right now I’d authentically like to shove my foot up his little ass, I think morosely, screaming my head off when something crawls over my foot and scuttles under the sofa.

“This is not good. I should have stayed in the city where spiders aren’t big as dogs and even if they were they don’t come near me because my mama lives down the street and anything natural and un-evil keeps a ten mile radius for survival’s sake!”

Jeff laughs because he’s met mama. The fact that he’s still breathing, and not a pile of dust after that event tells us all that Jeff himself is not of this world.

“It will be great! And we’re even gonna barbecue.” He chuckles, going against the grain when he drops his pack on the bunk and flicks his boy band hair all while sporting a tight ass pair of jeans, a flannel shirt.

And me? I end up on the lake with Teddy’s airhead girlfriend Sasha and her pal Rainbow who by the way, really is heavy into irony because there ain’t one happy thing about the black haired goth wannabe.

“I told them this wasn’t a good idea! What do we even know about the outdoors? Last year Teddy signed us up for camping in the park and I swear to God, he got lost taking a leak in the bushes. I had to form a search party for the fool and we found him cowering beside a hobo, crying like a baby!” Sash giggles as I sweat through my designer flannel and shoot death glares at the two lazing losers leaving me to do all the work.

I never thought I’d say this, I must have nature fever, but I miss Mari and mama and even my brother Obin who doesn’t own soap and smells like ten dead skunks.

“I know. Barney wanted me to get into subsistence living in the city and took me dumpster diving. It was gross. He kept bringing home old restaurant produce that looked like brown sludge and telling me it was spinach. I let him keep believing that until he got food poisoning and had to go to the hospital.” She says darkly, almost killing me with shock when her black lips crack into a dark grin.

“What about you Ing? Why are you here and not at home with the things God gave us, like phones and the ability to wash our pits?” Sasha asks, her blonde good looks making me sort of like her, on a totally vain level of, if I die I want to at least have one good looking chick to give me competition and make the crime scene photos hot…plus, well Jason always goes for the blondes first.

Unless the blonde is Mari because then, we all know, the poor lumbering oaf will be running the other way.

“Bad break up,” I mutter honestly, grunting at the strength needed to pull us into the middle of the lake.

I have the legitimate heebs as I peer over the edge of the boat and see something dart beneath the murky surface. Was that a hockey mask! Oh sweet Jesus, please take the others first, I have a lot to repent before you let me die a brutal death.

“Oh you poor thing! I had a bad break up once, in like middle school! I was shocked when he told me he wanted to see other people.” She giggles, making my eye twitch.

“Er, I am so not sure that counts Sasha,” Rainbow mutters, giving her a dark glare that I so second.

This chick had one break up? I’ve had like….the number is not important. And anyway, after I convinced people that I don’t have a yeast disease in my junk and threatened to kill mama in her sleep-God that woman is scary good with rumours and the worst part is that she doesn’t even lie, people just take her inferences and run with it. Green discharge my ass- it was me breaking things off with guys.

“Oh but it does! I was so traumatised I decided to only date guys who are like an eight. Seven at the least but no higher than eight because then they think they have better options. Plus, Teddy is just so grateful that I have sex with him regularly that he does everything he can to keep me happy. He even let me choose the movie last week.”

Oh the romance!

I so see her point though. Most hipsters cling onto an eight rating by the tips of their mouse calloused fingers and that’s the barrel I was scraping for years until a dick named Russell ruined me for all other men.

Why won’t my vagina just listen? She can go back to six inches. She can!

“That’s gross. And sad for Teddy. I love Barney, he’s my soul mate.” Rainbow drones in a dead voice that makes my spine shudder.

“You have one of those?” I ask before I can stop myself, getting an astonishingly amused grin from the pale faced woman.

“You’re funny. You should totally check out Rubies Bar on open mic night. You’d be popular with the construction workers.”

“Thanks, but I am so not even ready for that,” I mutter, wheezing when a bubble pops on the surface of the water and my arms start pumping of their own accord, despite the burning pain and numbness. “Oh my God! Was that an air bubble?”

Sasha leans over the edge and peers down, her weight upsetting the boat so much I let out a horrified scream and lunge the other way to correct. I can’t help my irrational fear of water after mama and aunt Ro made me and Mari watch those movies.

Mama said it would teach me never to go looking for trouble, but I think what she really meant to do was scare my dreams of a remote home where she couldn’t visit right out of my head. I can’t even look at holiday brochures without having flashbacks so I guess mama won that one.

Unfortunately for me, my attempt to correct the balance turns into a shit fest and by the time I’m on my feet and screaming like a banshee, Rainbow is dancing in the boat and Sasha is turning things very rocky.

“No!”

I am not a good swimmer, well I mean I can swim but I am shit scared as the boat capsizes and dumps us all in the drink. So terrified in fact that even knowing Rainbow, my poor little Rainbow of the happy smiles and kindness, may drown in her goth dress because that thing must weigh a ton….I start swimming like an Olympian and just say screw it.

Nothing will reach me with those two dead ducks in the water.

By the time I reach the shore and scramble out like a lunatic, yelling Lord alone knows what, I’m so done I could happily spend the day with Russell and not even try to kill him once.

“Ing!”

“Sorry! I uh, I didn’t want to weigh y’all down.” I yell back, scanning the water as Sahsa grabs Rainbow in a fireman’s hold and starts swimming like a champ.

“Don’t slow down!”

What? I have a heart. Just because I left them there for eventualities and my own survival does not mean I want them to die in a bloody, gruesome and terrifying way. I only get one of those wishes and I save it for mama. A bus would be a good way for her to go. If she doesn’t self-combust in church soon. Daddy says it will happen eventually but I think she rubs with fire retardant on Sundays so I’m not holding my breath.

“You tell ‘em Ing! Maybe then they won’t be serial murdered in that water.”