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    A Single Girls Guide to Surviving Valentine's Day
    A Single Girls Guide to Surviving Valentine's Day
    A Single Girls Guide to Surviving Valentine's Day
    Ebook102 pages1 hour

    A Single Girls Guide to Surviving Valentine's Day

    By Penny Michaels

    5/5

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    About this ebook

    Bianca Rossi has it all figured out... at least that's what her successful Ezine column would have you believe. Whether she's advising her Fidanzata about the best place to go for a bikini wax or the best place to buy condoms at 3:00 am, Bianca has all the answers. As Valentine's Day approaches and a cold snap freezes Bianca's radiator, her column introduces a hot new handy-man named Hank who heats things up for her in and out of the bedroom. But when mild-mannered, real-life Bianca opens the door to a hot new handy-man named Hank, suddenly she has nothing but more questions.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherPenny Michaels
    Release dateFeb 9, 2015
    ISBN9781310508134
    A Single Girls Guide to Surviving Valentine's Day
    Author

    Penny Michaels

    Penny Michaels quite simply is a hopeless romantic... all of her characters have one thing in common. They're looking for... and always manage to find... great love.

    Read more from Penny Michaels

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      Book preview

      A Single Girls Guide to Surviving Valentine's Day - Penny Michaels

      A Single Girl’s Guide to Surviving Valentine’s Day

      By Penny Michaels

      Smashword Edition

      Chapter 1

      A Single Girls Guide to Staying Warm This Week...

      Oh, my fidanzata who left the refrigerator door open. Brrrrrrr! How's a single girl supposed to make it through the night without fffreeeezing? For those of you who aren't yet a member of the Maschione of the month club, we will be talking about some of my can't live without items for purchase... tonight my three favorite electric blankets/ heated mattress pads. Tomorrow it'll be the top five over the counter personal stimulation products (translated... vibrators you can buy locally). And if the weather doesn't break by the weekends it’s what’s new in $.99 or less eBook erotica.

      I push my rolling chair away from my desk with a satisfied smile. How did I, Bianca Rossi, get so lucky that I make a living blogging about items I can't live without? As if anyone cares what I can't live without. Then I frown as I look at the flaming haired, pouty lipped, curvaceous in all the right places photo staring back at me. It reminds me that she's the one they care about. A fictitious bombshell who dates a new hot guy every month. January it’s been Jennings, a doctor she met at a New Year’s Day football bash who encouraged her to get her flu shot. Assuming the weather hadn't broken by the weekend, February would be Hank, a handy man who arrives to fix her heater.

      And speaking of heaters, I pull my robe tighter around my thin frame and scoop up Marmalade, a fat orange cat, before shuffling to the hall to turn up my own thermostat. I love my house, a turn of the century bungalow with enough charm and character to make up for a few draughts, and I love that my job affords me to actually be a home owner, but this cold snap is taking its toll on my radiator. I live in Little Rock. It’s not supposed to be single digits in Little Rock for more than a few minutes at a time.

      My phone rings and I groan inwardly. I have to post my blog by 11:00pm in order for it to be available the next morning. So a call at after 11:00 can only mean two things. First, there’s a problem with the column and I’ll have to rewrite it, or second, it’s my mother.

      Hi mom. I say, only hesitating a half a second before answering when I see her name on the screen.

      Bibi, why are you home alone on a Saturday night? My mother screeches into the phone, her Italian accent well too thick for someone who was born and raised in the south United States.

      Okay first of all, how do you know I’m alone? Do you have cameras in my house? And second, how do you even know I’m at home? I’m on a cell phone. I could be in the middle of a dance club or in bed with some hot guy for that matter!

      Okay I know what you’re thinking. Did I actually just admit to my mother that there’s a possibility of me being in bed with a random hot guy? Well first, both my mother and I know that the chances of that are about a billion to one. And furthermore, if I were ever in the position where there was a need to debate the merits of winding up in a random hot guy’s bed, my mom would be the one cheering me on to go for it. She’s not like your mom. She’s not like anyone’s mom. And she’s nothing like me. For starters, she looks and sounds like Sophia Loren. I don’t mean that in a vague term… I’m talking big lips, bigger boobs, cat green eyes and hair she dyes to match mine… although not really since mine is a pale red, just like my pale skin, and pale blue eyes. Her hair is as vibrant as her olive skin and her bold personality. Second, when someone asks the question, Do you wanna… my mother never says no. My Nonnina and Nonno are sufficiently appalled at her, but luckily they forgave her for an unplanned, unwed pregnancy at nineteen. They were less forgiving when I popped out as a full-fledged ginger, evidence that not only was my mother promiscuous but that she’d had a fling with…gasp… an Irishman!

      Are you at a club or in bed with some hot guy? My mother asks, sounding perturbed.

      No, I’m home alone on a Saturday night. Char hisses in protest at my confession that I was alone. I blow my sleek, charcoal black cat a conciliatory air kiss. She turns up her nose and slinks away.

      I repeat, why are you home alone on a Saturday night? You’re a beautiful girl with a delightful personality. Instead of writing about being single, you should be out there doing something to get yourself unsingle.

      You’ve never been unsingle in your life mom.

      I don’t want to be unsingle. You’re 27 and you call yourself an old-maid.

      First of all, I’m 29. I say exasperatedly. My mom has taken to lying about my age to make herself younger. And second, it’s a joke! I one time referred to myself as a ‘young-old-maid and it stuck."

      Well even your Nonnie is starting to worry. She lights candles for you and is planning to give up sausage for Lent in exchange for God sending you a husband.

      Nonnina is Methodist. And I don’t think that’s how lent works anyway.

      The point is even she is getting desperate.

      Well I’m sorry to disappoint you both, but I’m not desperate. I’m home because I was working late. My article took a while to come together.

      Well the night is young. Get out of your pajama pants and put on that green dress I bought you for Christmas and go somewhere.

      Perhaps I will. I lie, plopping down on the sofa with a box of Ben and Jerry’s, and I’m immediately joined by Cerulean, my Russian Blue Cat. Yes, I have three cats. It’s because I couldn’t decide on which kind was my favorite, and not because I am in fact a young-old-maid.

      You do realize that Valentines is two weeks from tonight?

      And there it is… the bleak, black cloud looming overhead for fifty weeks out of the year, only to land squarely in my lap as the month of January comes to an end.

      Yes mom, I’m well aware of it. I’m working all my angles to have a date. What more do you want from me?

      From you, nothing. For you? Everything you want for yourself. You can’t tell me you’re happy with your life.

      I’m happy enough.

      I can’t imagine anything sadder than being happy enough. My mother says condescendingly, and despite myself I have to agree with her.

      Mom, my other line is beeping. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.

      It wasn’t a lie even though I could lie to my mom without compunction. I check my phone, still

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