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closed my eyes to block out the horror, but alas, their new look had embedded itself on my brain. Shitcrapballs. Flushed with anger that I would never be able to forget these outfits, I decided to let them have it. “That was hateful and mean, what you did to those men.”
    “God bless him,” Mrs. C chimed in, “but I wouldn’t let some wild-peepered freak work on my electric or my roof or my plumbing.”
    “Or my hooha,” Edith added.
    I ignored her and threw up in my mouth a little bit. I refused to have a conversation with them about vaginas. I grabbed a bottle of water from my purse and took a huge swig.
    “Here’s the deal,” I said, wiping my mouth on the sleeve of my shirt. It was already wrinkled and had Steve’s tears all over it, so what the hell. “The building will be closed for two weeks and you two can’t be here—at all.”
    “I call bullshit,” Edith snapped. “We can be here whenever we want and you can’t tell us what to do,” she smirked.
    “That’s right, you little hussy,” Mrs. C cackled. “I’m guessing all the silicone in your hooters ate your brain. We run this place and you answer to us.”
    “First of all”—I smiled sweetly—“my hooters are real, and if I didn’t think it would excite you so much, I’d show you.”
    They gasped and tried to speak. “Quiet,” I bellowed. The volume thing was a great tool with these gals. I decided shouting the rest of my conversation would be fun. “It’s true I may not be able to fire you, but I can absofuckinglutely tell you what to do. I can cut your hours, make you clean toilets, or have you work from ten p.m. till five a.m. . . . counting buttons.”
    “I dare you,” Mrs. C hissed and narrowed her eyes beneath her gnarly unibrow.
    “Actually,” I continued as if she hadn’t spoken, “I think what we need in here is some new blood. Bless your nonexistent hearts, you two are getting up there in years and I don’t want you to strain yourselves. I’m going to hire several homophobic, right-wing, militant, religious zealot, superpreppy, bored housewives.”
    “You wouldn’t dare,” a very pale Edith spat.
    “Try me,” I shot back, refusing to break eye contact.
    They glanced at each other uncertainly as I smiled benignly at them. While they exchanged some kind of weird silent lesbian-sister telepathy, I realized this was another omen in my quest to ban cops from my bedroom—I mean life. Losing the bet and eating with Mrs. C and Edith would be a fate worse than death. Between my talk with Louise and my time spent with Satan’s gay spawns, I knew my decision to avoid Mitch for the rest of my life was a sound one. Depressing, but sound.
    “Fine,” Edith said tersely. “We’ll take two weeks off.”
    “Give me your keys,” I said with my hand out.
    Very reluctantly and cursing the entire time, they handed over their keys. Lutheran God was watching over me. I wasn’t going to lay eyes on these abominations for two whole weeks! I grinned as they waddled out of the store. The construction guys screamed and ran for cover when the old gals walked out. I found them still hiding in their truck a half an hour later. I handed them the master key to the entire building and left. My vacation started . . . now.

Chapter 8
    A s I entered my apartment building, ahead of me was one smokin’-hot man-butt. Who in the hell was he and why was he in the lobby of my apartment building? I wondered if his man-face matched his man-butt . . . the hell with Mitch, this man-butt was way better than his and this one potentially lived in my building. Things were looking up. I pretended to get my mail so I could check him out. His hoodie sweat jacket hid his face and hair color from me, but as he retrieved his mail, I saw his left hand, and it was ringless. Awesome.
    “Did you say something?” Hottie McMan-butt asked with his back still to me.
    Oh my God, did I say any of that out loud? That was a total asshat move. I mean, he had a great