“How did a gorgeous little thing like you decide to go into nursing?” I used my ultra suave Darryl Riley, sweet talking skills to jump start a conversation with the hot young thing checking my bandages.
I’d always been brilliant at sweet talk. Ask anyone. Except for my ex. Don’t ask her. Nothing I did sat well with Liza.
Seeing how much extra attention my condition warranted made me wonder if I should always be so vain. Perhaps not looking my best and being less than GQ ready had its advantages. This might just be another fantastic way to pick up great-looking chicks.
But wow, talk about a rather sobering experience. I was lucky to still be able to pick-up chicks period. Thank God for the fact I used plenty of product in my hair. According to my doctors, that’s the only thing that had saved me.
Decapitated. Oh my God! I can’t believe I was almost decapitated!
If it hadn’t have been for my super-strength Menscience hair-styling pomade, it would have been an “off with my head” moment.
“That bitch! What a total bitch!”
I blasted off with the first Queen of Hearts endearment, way too loud for a hospital environment. But with the second proclamation, I damn near catapulted myself right out of my intensive care, burn center unit bed.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Riley, did I hurt you?” My bodacious blond bombshell of a nurse asked, looking as if I’d mortally wounded her by using the B-word.
“Not you, Sweetheart. I’m sorry. No, definitely not you, Baby.”
But just wait till I get ahold of my Bitch of an Ex, I thought. I never should have married that witch!
Screw the fact she made my nurse look like nothing special. Liza Spitznogle may be a real looker, but she’s also bat shit crazy. So damn crazy, I’d bet that my now fried scalp had something to do with one of that psychotic bitch’s hexes.
Well, she’d tried to hex me. I was sure of it. But none of her stupid-ass Voodoo spells ever worked like they were supposed to.
It didn’t matter how far I travelled to get away from her, she still fucked with me!
How the hell could I be in Sweden while she was down on the farm in Indiana, and I still wasn’t safe?!
“Brigitta Baby, I need to make an international call. Be a doll and get my cell phone out of my trousers, would you please?”
What I would give to have those trousers on right now. But, yeah. So much for dreaming. Thanks to Liza, I had nothing but nightmares. Very bad, Voodoo-based nightmares.