Page 7 of Revenge Brunch and Other Disasters

“…okay, less weird than usual.”

The corgi trotted ahead, tail wagging like the signal flare of a tactical romance maneuver.

Rhys followed.

Friday was coming.

And he was bringingbuttoned-up emotional availability and mild cologne.

With backup.

Rhys looked down. “You’re going to have to get me the opportunity.”

The dog sneezed.

Challenge accepted.

Chapter Four: The Alarm Clock Revenge

Linda

IT BEGAN WITH a funeral.

Linda stood in her small backyard. Despite the sweltering Texas heat, she was wearing black yoga pants and her old high school debate team hoodie—the closest thing she owned to mourning attire that wasn’t in the laundry. Beside her, Sara solemnly held a half-melted chocolate pudding cup like it was a sacred chalice.

“In loving memory of function,” Linda intoned, voice grave. “You hadonejob.”

She gestured to the shoebox on the grass, its cardboard flaps draped with a paper towel like a makeshift casket. Inside: the formerly sleek, now slightly cracked, über-expensive alarm clock that had betrayed her. Twice. She might forgive once—but twice? Never. The ‘teach-it-a-lesson’ throw had been a little too enthusiastic.

“And failed,” Sara added helpfully.

Linda nodded, a hand to her heart. “Failed spectacularly. Let the record show, you were shiny, needlessly complicated, and wildly overconfident in your Bluetooth syncing abilities.”

They stood in silence for a moment.

A bird chirped. Somewhere in the distance, a neighbor’s dog barked. The world went on, uncaring.

“Should we… say a few words?” Sara asked.

Linda tilted her head. “I think I already said several. Loudly. This morning. One of them might have been in German.”

“Oh right.Scheiße.Very moving. I’d like to say a few,” Sara said, straightening like she was about to address the United Nations.

She cleared her throat. “You were sleek. You were modern. You were too expensive for someone who still uses her oven for shoe storage. But most importantly—you made my best friend believe. Believe in structure. In timeliness. In corporate competence. And then you betrayed her.

“You beeped in German once. You ignored your calling. And you died a coward.”

She sniffled. “Rest in circuits.”

Linda took a deep breath. “Okay. Time for the final act.”

She pulled out a small garden trowel, but after two minutes of half-hearted digging and discovering the ground was 82% roots and 18% regret, she gave up and instead plucked the alarm clock from the box, stomped over to the trash can.

She paused, holding it in both hands like a cursed artifact. “We could do a ceremonial smashing,” she muttered.

Sara perked up. “I have a mallet.”

“No,” Linda said, solemn again. “That’s what it wants. It wants me to stoop to its level. Violence would only give it closure.”

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