The feeling to my hands returns fully, around the same time that I could breathe again.

Okay, so apparently I’m married. This is definitely not what I set out for. In fact, it’s the exact opposite of what I wanted.

In all actuality, this is the worst I’ve ever managed to fuck up.

It’s bad. Really bad.

That being said, it’s not as permanent as certain suburbanites might have you believe.

I can fix this. That’s why we invented divorce right? Or even an annulment.

The only real problem here is that I have no fucking idea what my husband looks like.

Who am I married to?

I lower my trembling hand and glance at the girls.

We’ve been through worse. We’ll figure this out.

“Okay,” Sammi says, her serious scientific voice at work, “this—this is going to be okay. We know you got married last night, all we need to do is figure out exactly what happened, and then we’ll fix it.”

She looks at me warily, like I’m about to jump out the window, run and scream down the street.

Hard to blame her, it’s not like the thought didn’t cross my mind.

“Fuck yes we’ll fix it,” I say instead, glad to see her face soften.

“Okay, good.” Becky pipes up. “We can do this. I mean, come on. This is one thing we’re fucking good at.”

I laugh, wondering slightly at our strange skill set.

“First things first: let’s check the suite.”

We all nod begrudgingly, knowing what we’re about to find likely won’t be pretty.

I extend my hand toward the door, eyes still fixed on Sammi.

“After you.”

She groans, turning to make her way back into the hall.

After discovering that my pubes are blessedly untouched, I’m actually feeling pretty positive about this one.

How bad can it be?

The room over from my own is the bathroom. The door is slightly ajar, hanging loosely from a clearly busted hinge. I take a deep breath before pushing it slowly open, memories of horny monkeys and sharks dancing through my head.

When nothing immediately jumps at me, I give it a hard shove. It slides easily enough, hinge squeaking loudly in protest as it opens.

Really, once I get a good look, it’s not so bad.

No wild animals, no ladyboy hiding in the shower. All in all, maybe even a little disappointing. The only things that might be a little concerning are the pregnancy tests.

The bathroom is covered with them. On the sink, the floor, floating sadly in the toilet.

Truly, I’ve never seen so many pregnancy tests, and I’ve had my fair share of scares.

I pick one up from the vanity and examine it.

It’s positive.

It’s obvious that it isn’t Becky taking all of these since we can all clearly see she’s pregnant, so once we figure out how I got fucking married last night, we have a whole new issue to address.

I walk toward the living room, trying to find any piece of evidence that can help us. As I get closer, I start gagging.

I smell the living room before I see it.

“Oh, gross!” Mysti says, covering her nose.

The reek of absinthe after a night of knocking it back shot after shot hits you like a smack in the face. Clearly, there was a bit of a spill. More than a bit, really.

From the stench, it’s like the world’s biggest party foul.

I follow Mysti’s lead, covering my nose. The smell only grows more pungent as we get closer. When we reach the living room, I quickly spot the puddle.

Yeah, that’s a lot.

Really though, not as half as interesting as what I found on the piano.

Sprawled across the Steinway, naked as the day she was born, which must be sometime in the early 1700s, is possibly the oldest woman I’ve ever seen.

Her gray hair hangs limply from the edge, drool pooling on the lid.

From the pound of makeup on her face, I’m definitely thinking hooker. I’m not sure how that’s possible at her age, but I make a mental note to ask what her secret is.

“Fuck,” Sammi says, following my line of sight.

I shrug, continuing further into the room. Honestly, I’m still just waiting for some beastie to jump out and wrap itself around my head like a scene from alien movie.

All jokes aside, that’s really not the kind of face sucker I’m into.

With this group though, it definitely might be a possibility.

If anyone could manage to go for a night on the town and end up bringing back a hungry alien, it’s me and my girls.

“Well, that’s actually kind of pretty.” Mysti says.

I glance back at the ancient hooker.

“For fuck’s sake, Mysti. Not even you could believe that.”

She giggles, “No, not that.” She says, looking pointedly across the room.

I follow her eyes, relieved when I find the source of her amusement.

Through the glass doors I see the hot tub, a mountain of bubbles forming like a volcano.

“Oh, yeah,” I laugh. “Pretty.”

“Hey,” Sammi chimes in. “Isn’t that Silver Fox?”

“Where?” I ask, doing a three-sixty that makes my head spin.

“On the TV.”

She points. I look over, my eyes quickly finding the muted screen.

Sure enough, there’s my guy. The guy anyway.

“Turn it up.” Becky says.

Sammi crosses quickly, not even bothering to look for the remote.

“That’s right,” a female reporter chimes in a high-pitched voice, “you heard it here first. Prince Lanteri was looking pretty cozy with a mystery woman last night.”

The screen shifts to display a slightly blurred photo of Silver Fox, his arm wrapped firmly around a black haired woman, his body shielding most of her from view.

“Yes,” a man chimes in. “Clearly not his fiancé.”

The woman reappears a moment later.

“Accounts from last night are still trickling in, but we do have one new juicy morsel for you. It would appear that the woman in question was actually wearing the royal family ring.”

Cue fake surprise from the male co-host.

“Gosh, Terry,” he says, totally over-acting. “That is juicy.”

I cross quickly to the TV, hitting the power button only a smidge too hard. All three girls look questioningly at me, clearly unsure of how to react. I can empathize, really not sure how to react myself.

“So that rules him out,” I say, glancing down at the ring on my finger.

“Is that good or bad?” Mysti asks.

“Neither,” I say with a shrug. “I don’t want to be married to anyone. It doesn’t really matter to me who he replaced me with, right?”

Three heads bob in agreement, though I see questions in their eyes.

“It’s fine,” I say. “Good for him.”

“It’s okay if you’re upset,” Becky comments. She leans into me, her big baby belly pressed into my forearm as she gives me a comforting hug.

“I’m really not.”

It’s the truth. I don’t know what I am.

Mysti crosses to me, looking like she’s about to comfort me too. I open my mouth to tell her exactly how little I need to be comforted.

“Mysti really—”

A crash breaks through my words, my mouth slamming shut on the protest.

“What the fuck?!”

Oh, great. It’s the fucking face sucker. It’s got to be.

“What was that?” Sammi asks, looking around quickly.

“Sounds like it came from the kitchen.” Mysti answers, already heading that way.

We follow immediately behind, preparing ourselves for anything.

I’m still half expecting an attack when we reach the kitchen. What I’m not expecting, is to see a baby bear raiding the fucking refrigerator.

“What the fuck?” I repeat, staring in awe.

The furry little mass just continues its task, hands groping for a gallon of chocolate milk just out of its reach.

“There are bears in Amsterdam?” Mysti asks.

At the sound of her voice, it turns, feet spinning quickly on the tile. As its face comes into view, I can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. A hundred nature documentaries fall quickly from my thoughts, images of angry momma bears blessedly disappearing.

“Awwww!” Becky says, crouching down slightly.

Not a bear then.

Actually, this might be worse.

The child looks confusedly at us, pushing back the hood of his bear costume.

“It’s okay,” Becky says. “We won’t hurt you.”

She reaches both arms out in invitation. He ignores her entirely, his eyes passing over her as if she doesn’t exist. They don’t stop until they find Mysti, locking intensely on to her.

“Mommy!” he cries, before running across the kitchen.

He reaches Mysti in a second, wrapping his arms tightly around her leg.

“Mommy! Mommy!”

What the fuck?