Prologue
(Because you need a little explanation before you dive into insanity)
There are times in life when a person (who may or may not be me) finds out that the man she has been married to for the last fifteen years has been cheating on her.
During such a grievous event, this person (who, again, may or may not be me) might decide to throw sanity to the wind and ride the Crazy Train into Crazy Town.
While said woman is there, she might enjoy the scenery so much that she takes up residence. And after a while, she might grow to love her surroundings so much that she joins a Crazy Convent and lives there forever and ever and ever.
I should clarify though.
When I say she goes crazy, I’m not talking the kind of crazy where she needs a straight-jacket. I mean that she’s harmless crazy. As in, she dates-a-younger-gigolo-and-uses-a-vibrator-for-the-first-time. It’s the kind of crazy where she goes out and buys $10,000 dollars worth of shoes and gets Botox. And possibly gets laser surgery on her abs that she will never admit to in a million years. It’s the kind of crazy where she probably needs her credit card taken away and shredded.
But that’s the good kind of crazy, right?
Because everyone knows that there are good and bad kinds of crazy, just like there are good and bad kinds of fat. Her kind of crazy is like the avocado kind of crazy—the good kind. The kind a person’s body needs to stay healthy and strong.
These things may or may not have happened.
Okay, they did.
And it may or may not have been me.
Okay, it was me.
And every bit is true and then some.
Except the part about the convent.
I went crazy for a while, not freaking insane. I’m a healthy red-blooded female in the sexual prime of my life. I need sex. I would rather get shot in the leg and have a Brazilian wax every hour on the hour than live somewhere where there are no men. Seriously.
But I digress.
Hi. My name is Alli. My husband of fifteen years cheated on me with every female in a twenty mile vicinity who was willing and had a heartbeat. I thought about going all Lorena Bobbitt on him and chopping his dick off. But I didn’t.
Instead, I took him to the cleaners in our divorce and then I went crazy.
But it was the good kind of crazy.
And there’s one thing about the good kind of crazy… it makes for a really good story.
This is my story.
Welcome to Crazy Town. I hope you enjoy your stay.
Chapter One
(Or: Why God invented BFF’s)
“Allison, I’m telling you, you need to try this. Honest to God, it’s been the best decision I’ve ever made for my hormones.”
“Which is exactly why I shouldn’t even consider it. I’m too old to be listening to my hormones.”
Sara stops in the middle of the frozen food section of our very local grocery store and puts her hands on her hips, glaring at me with her big brown eyes.
“And if you don’t take care of your hormones, who will? Rick the Dick?”
“Shhh, Sara!” I look around to make sure no one is listening to our conversation. I’m glad to see that, for the moment, we are alone.
“Well? Is he?”
“You know he’s not.”
“And we know why he’s not, too. Because his dick has been in service to at least four other women that we know of. At this point, I’d be afraid it might fall off inside you if you went back for some.”
“Oh my god, Sara, hush! Someone’s gonna hear you!”
I look around frantically, but thank God no one has appeared around us. Sara stares at me, half imperiously and half with pity.
“I don’t care and you shouldn’t either! I’m tired of women acting like having sexual needs is a bad thing. I’m all about embracing it. Girl, I wasted twenty years of my life thinking vibrators were evil. I still can’t figure out why the hell I listened to my mother.”
I’m the one who stares imperiously now.
“Sara, a vibrator and a young hot guy are two totally different kinds of toys. If you were trying to talk me into getting a vibrator, I’d be all for it. But this is totally out of the question.”
I watch Sara’s ruby stained lips fall open.
“Holy shit, you don’t have a vibrator? Allison, what the hell? Aren’t you afraid that thing is gonna get cobwebs and shrivel up from lack of use?”
I feel myself blush when I look up and see a little old lady sitting in a motorized cart frowning at us. Holy shit. How did I miss her purple hair when I looked around a minute ago?
Please God, let her have forgotten her hearing aid today!
“All right. That’s it,” Sara says suddenly, reaching for the few items in my buggy and dumping them onto a shelf in one big heap. “We are going to the naughty store. Today starts the liberation of Allison. Or at least your hoo-hah. I’m making it my mission in life to help you let your inner cougar out of the cage. That bitch has been in captivity for far too long.”
She takes my hand and whirls me around, abandoning my cart and dragging me toward the exit. Our heels click loudly on the scuffed floor, attracting the attention of everyone in our direct vicinity.
And so, of course, this is when Sara chooses to be even more obscene.
“I’m gonna find you the biggest plastic c**k on the market and you’re gonna use it if I have to tie you down and do it for you.”
I want to effing die.
I am horrified to see the head of every bag boy turn in our direction, even more so when I recognize two of them. They go to school with Sophie, my 15-year old daughter.
“Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod! Sara, shut up!” I hiss at her.
“I will if you’ll move your ass. This needs to be fixed. Today. And there’s no time like the present. Sophie won’t be home for another two hours. That’s just long enough for me to change your mind.”
“Like that’s gonna happen,” I murmur. “Don’t hold your breath, Sara.”
“We’ll see, Miss Sexually Repressed. We’ll see.”
********
One humiliating hour later, Sara and I are pressed together in front of my computer, flipping through an online catalog of men. Well, I say “men” lightly. These males are somewhere between guydom and manhood, with guydom being that place in which the masculine form of our species gets stuck for the several years after high school and surrounding college.