Page 5 of Worst Nanny Ever
“What about the bed?” I ask, ready to change the subject. “Doesn’t it feel crowded with all three of you?”
She gave me a tour of the cottage before we got started, and it’s a double bed. A DOUBLE. Unthinkable with three people.
“Sometimes. When the goats sleep with us,” she says with a careless shrug.
“The goats sleep with you?”
“Oh, sure,” she says. “But they’re not housebroken, so it can get rough.”
Damn. I wish I’d thought to bring a notebook. I’m not sure what I’d be cataloguing the information for, but I kind of like the thought of being a modern cultural anthropologist. Self-taught and self-appointed, obviously.
I desperately want to ask if one of her grooms is better at sex, and if that is a subject of embarrassment and sensitivity to everyone, but even I know better than to ask that.
I’m kind of hoping she’ll just offer up the information.
“You’re very good at this,” she says dreamily, staring in the mirror as I move on to the foundation. I’ve barely done anything yet, but she already has a bridal glow.
I smile at her reflection. “You’re beautiful. You make it easy. Just wait until I’m finished. They’ll both want to get into your pants at once.”
This is what I love about makeup—bringing out people’s natural beauty. Everyone has beauty.Everyone.
The proper use of makeup is to highlight what makes a person special. To give it a crown.
That’s what I’m doing with Tallulah.
“I’m going to send you home with some of our goat cheese ice cream too,” she says, beaming at me.
Well, I’ll certainly be givingthataway.
The service is heldoutside on a well-shaded corner of the farm. The officiant is a woman named Stella—a fellow goat enthusiast and the godmother of one of the goat farmers—and her husband is sitting in the front row weeping. From joy, everyone insists, patting him on the back.
It’s bizarre but kind of sweet, and I can’t deny there’s something compelling about the adoring way both of Tallulah’s husbands-to-be are watching her. It’s been a while since anyone’s looked at me like that.
My car is constantly just on this side of being junkyard ready, so I hitched a ride to the farm with someone I know on the catering staff. I opt against riding home with her after the ceremony, deciding instead to stay for the after-party. I’m hoping to witness some weird shit: a tantric sex party, some cultist chanting, dancing around a bonfire, that kind of thing.
Now, don’t judge me. I’ve known Tallulah for long enough that I can reasonably expect not to be murdered—and if anyone tries, I have pepper spray and brass knuckles on my person. I’d like to think I’d take my killer down with me or at least leave them with a bloody nose to remember me by.
To be honest, though, the party ends up being a bit of a disappointment. The dancing only lasts until dark, and everyone left funnels inside to play Settlers of Catan. We divide into three separate groups.
I suggest strip Catan for my group, and a guy lectures me on how I don’t understand the “true spirit of the game.”
I also, apparently, don’t understand the “true spirit” of marriage, because shouldn’t the happy throuple be having wild sex, or at least dancing to mellow eighties songs?
I’ll admit, after a few too many hard kombuchas, I flat out ask Tallulah why she isn’t getting freaky with her husbands.
She gives me a pitying look and says, “This is foreplay.”
I don’t see it. Nothing about trading for grain or rice makesmefeel hot and bothered. And the gaming goes on for hours.Hours.
By the time my phone buzzes at two in the morning, I’m more than ready for the distraction.
“Oops, so sorry, gotta answer this,” I say, lifting it up to show everyone at my table.
“That’s a text alert,” says the player sitting next to me, a guy whose name I didn’t catch. “Youcan’tanswer it.”
“It’s probably super important,” I respond, already on my feet. “You can skip me this round.”
I’m guessing most of the people at my table are happy to get rid of me, probably because I don’t actually know how to play Settlers of Catan, even though three separate people have given me long-winded explanations.
