Read The Madams of Mischief: Doom Divas Book # 1 Page 40

  Damn that slimy worm. I really should have squashed it when I had the chance. Without the worm, maybe, just maybe my sister, Charli, wouldn’t have flipped out and started that big old mess she managed to drag me into. The mess, by the way, that led to my being accused of murder. Which, of course, almost cost me my life as I tried to find the real culprit. If I had gone ahead and killed that nasty night crawler as soon as I saw it, it’s entirely possible that Lady Luck and the other Divas of Doom, Destiny and Chance, would have left me alone instead of trying to drop kick me through the goal posts of life.

  But, of course I didn’t. Instead of smashing it to smithereens, I actually laughed when I saw it. And, as seems to be the running theme with my life, that one bad decision compounded into a serious run of not just bad, but hideous luck.

  I can’t understand it, either. I’m not a bad person. I go to church sometimes. I make an attempt to be polite. I’m unfailingly kind to animals, always pay my bills, usually mind my own business, and I always floss twice a day. So why is it that when the chips start falling they generally land with a resounding thud right on top of my curly brown head?

  Charli says it’s bad karma. My best friend, Tim, thinks I’m overly dramatic. He says that drama queens run in my family. Mom, on the other hand, says I should just ‘look on the bright side’. That, I should ‘consider myself lucky’ because ‘things could have been a lot worse.’ Pollyanna hasn’t got a thing on Mom.

  Mom, of course, has never had a bad day in her whole, pinch-me-I-must-be-dreaming, Cinderella-should-be-so-lucky, life. But me? Boy, is that ever another story. Since Ricky Ray Riley - and yes, I’m talking about the Ricky Ray Riley, the new kid on the block of country music with his multi-platinum, chart-topping debut album – since he dumped me three days before our wedding (on my twenty-third birthday no less) my life has been on a downhill plunge. Last summer, I even found a dead guy in a trashcan. But, that’s another story for another day.

  Lately, it’s been sort of like I’m the star of one of those dorky, not particularly scary, horror flick where there’s an axe-wielding maniac skulking around behind every other door. Only in my case, it’s not a maniac lurking, but those three Floozies of Fate, and, instead of an axe, they’re armed with a whole quiver full of cosmic wedgies. Quite frankly, it’s all starting to make me feel more than a little paranoid.