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Authors: Carol Marinelli
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and entrance criteria and it was just too confusing so I checked my horoscope, which said now was a good time to give up bad habits but there was nothing about my finances or love life improving.
So I checked another and I checked another and then something caught my eye.
Cosmic Love by Yasmin Boland.
A step-by-step guide to cosmic-ordering the perfect guy.
It was all about manifesting, apparently.
Build it and they will come sort of thing.
It was an eBook, which was just as well, because I’d have been too embarrassed to go into a shop and buy it. I typed in my details and waited for my credit card to be declined, but—well, the universe must have wanted me to have it because, despite my late payment, or rather no payment, there it was in my inbox.
I loved it.
It was so positive. All I had to do was write lists (well, there was a bit more to it than that, but I went straight tothe good stuff) and tell the universe what I wanted in a partner.
And not some vague wants either, a specific order.
So I did.
I did everything Yasmin told me.
Well, except the clearing-out stuff part, but Nicole had had a big tidy before she left. And I didn’t bother with the cleansing shower to get rid of past loves, and visualising and snipping the threads that bound and letting them go and all that mumbo-jumbo crap.
Be sure that you are ready, Yasmin warned, and that you’ve done your preparation.
Oh, I was ready.
I loved this book—I toddled off to the kitchen and made another jug and got some scissors so I could cut out the pyramid that came with it.
If I had ink in the printer.
I did.
It was all aligning that night.
I had to write what I wanted—I could be as specific as I liked and for a second there my mind did flick to Dan, though Yasmin had warned me not to manipulate—and really, even if I could turn Dan straight, would I want to? I mean, you’d never relax, would you? Anyway, Yasmin said it was better to trust the universe, that the right guy would always come back if he was the one.
I had to print out the pyramid again because when I was cutting it out I chopped off the end.
God, I was pissed.
And, yes, I trusted the universe and everything, but not completely.
I wanted blond or raven, not someone with myaffliction. I mean, I had to think of our children and, anyway, people might think we were brother and sister when we went out. So I knew it couldn’t be Hugh. Nicole’s cousin held no charm for me, but perhaps he was a means to an end. One look at me, and Hugh’s eyes would widen. ‘There’s the type of girl to take to the neurosurgeons’ Christmas party. That’s the type of girl who would look marvellous at the Kids with Cancer Christmas fundraising ball.’
Well, maybe not Kids with Cancer, just underprivileged or burn victims or something and I’d be there, radiant and smiling all ready to meet the love of my life.
I added a few little extra requests, and then I wrote MR.
It stood for Mr and Massive Ring.
Clever, huh? No one, if they found my list, would work that out.
I followed the instructions as best as I could, but I didn’t have a compass, so I guessed as to the south-west corner of the flat. And then, given I was sorting out my love life, I decided I might as well go the whole hog so I went back to the computer and read again the application procedures and the qualifications required to be a music teacher. I even filled in some forms to ask for them to send me some forms. It was all so daunting—the more I looked, the more overwhelming it seemed. Impossible, actually.
I had barely scraped through my exams at school. Even if by some miracle I was accepted, how could I give up my job? I was in debt to the eyeballs as it was.
I thought of the pile of unopened envelopes stuffed in my drawers and under my mattress, the credit-cardstatements that were too scary to open—let alone think about—so I didn’t.
While my credit card was behaving I bought an online tarot reading and then
So I checked another and I checked another and then something caught my eye.
Cosmic Love by Yasmin Boland.
A step-by-step guide to cosmic-ordering the perfect guy.
It was all about manifesting, apparently.
Build it and they will come sort of thing.
It was an eBook, which was just as well, because I’d have been too embarrassed to go into a shop and buy it. I typed in my details and waited for my credit card to be declined, but—well, the universe must have wanted me to have it because, despite my late payment, or rather no payment, there it was in my inbox.
I loved it.
It was so positive. All I had to do was write lists (well, there was a bit more to it than that, but I went straight tothe good stuff) and tell the universe what I wanted in a partner.
And not some vague wants either, a specific order.
So I did.
I did everything Yasmin told me.
Well, except the clearing-out stuff part, but Nicole had had a big tidy before she left. And I didn’t bother with the cleansing shower to get rid of past loves, and visualising and snipping the threads that bound and letting them go and all that mumbo-jumbo crap.
Be sure that you are ready, Yasmin warned, and that you’ve done your preparation.
Oh, I was ready.
I loved this book—I toddled off to the kitchen and made another jug and got some scissors so I could cut out the pyramid that came with it.
If I had ink in the printer.
I did.
It was all aligning that night.
I had to write what I wanted—I could be as specific as I liked and for a second there my mind did flick to Dan, though Yasmin had warned me not to manipulate—and really, even if I could turn Dan straight, would I want to? I mean, you’d never relax, would you? Anyway, Yasmin said it was better to trust the universe, that the right guy would always come back if he was the one.
I had to print out the pyramid again because when I was cutting it out I chopped off the end.
God, I was pissed.
And, yes, I trusted the universe and everything, but not completely.
I wanted blond or raven, not someone with myaffliction. I mean, I had to think of our children and, anyway, people might think we were brother and sister when we went out. So I knew it couldn’t be Hugh. Nicole’s cousin held no charm for me, but perhaps he was a means to an end. One look at me, and Hugh’s eyes would widen. ‘There’s the type of girl to take to the neurosurgeons’ Christmas party. That’s the type of girl who would look marvellous at the Kids with Cancer Christmas fundraising ball.’
Well, maybe not Kids with Cancer, just underprivileged or burn victims or something and I’d be there, radiant and smiling all ready to meet the love of my life.
I added a few little extra requests, and then I wrote MR.
It stood for Mr and Massive Ring.
Clever, huh? No one, if they found my list, would work that out.
I followed the instructions as best as I could, but I didn’t have a compass, so I guessed as to the south-west corner of the flat. And then, given I was sorting out my love life, I decided I might as well go the whole hog so I went back to the computer and read again the application procedures and the qualifications required to be a music teacher. I even filled in some forms to ask for them to send me some forms. It was all so daunting—the more I looked, the more overwhelming it seemed. Impossible, actually.
I had barely scraped through my exams at school. Even if by some miracle I was accepted, how could I give up my job? I was in debt to the eyeballs as it was.
I thought of the pile of unopened envelopes stuffed in my drawers and under my mattress, the credit-cardstatements that were too scary to open—let alone think about—so I didn’t.
While my credit card was behaving I bought an online tarot reading and then
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