Page 1 of Connectio
Chapter One
“Vaginas rule the world!” my flamboyant best friend hollers.
“Really, Carly?” I facepalm then peek through my spread fingers, unable to stop myself from smiling at her idiocy.
“Yes, really.” She points a spatula covered in meringue at me. “And it’s about time you realised it.”
Sliding my hand to my temple, I massage it to release the Carly-tension Carly so easily puts there. “How? How do vaginas rule the world? Please enlighten me.”
This should be good.
She licks the spatula and waggles her eyebrows. “Because men are powerless when it comes to the pink taco.”
“Oh my God! Are you for real?”
“I’m for very real. The realest real I can be.” Carly places her hands on the benchtop and pierces me with her very real stare. “That carrot-topped taco between your legs is the most powerful thing you’ll ever own, so I suggest you wield it like a weapon.”
“Carly!”
“What?” She furrows her brow for the slightest of seconds before brushing her inappropriate comment off with the swish of her hand.
Inappropriate. That’s the best way to describe my roommate and best friend of several years. She’s offensive, fierce, and filterless, but she also has a heart of gold and bears an uncanny resemblance to Barbie.
Snatching the spatula from her manicured hand before she further desecrates our kitchen, I safely place it in the dishwasher, close the door, and rest my backside against it, arms crossed over my chest. “You can’t just talk about my vagina like that.”
“Yes, I can. You’re a redhead, Lib. It’s scientifically proven that your taco is redheaded as well.”
This is why Carly isn’t a teacher and I am.
“Scientifically proven?” I prompt, almost choking.
“Yep.” She pokes at the cake she’s just covered in meringue and then sucks her finger clean.
“It’s not scientifically proven.” Dismissing her lunacy like I normally do, I walk to the stools at our breakfast bar and slump into one. “You’re right about one thing though; vaginas should rule the world—”
“Do,” she interrupts, “not should. Do.”
“Right. Do.” I sigh, unconvinced, and then pick at my unmanicured nails.
“You should see to those abominations.” Carly gestures to my fingers while performing a “blergh” face.
I fold them into my hands and make fists. “Why?”
“Because they’re hideous.”
“Why does it even matter? I’ve no one to impress.”
“Yes, you do.”
“Who?”
She points to her voluptuous chest. “Me… and your Prince Charming.” Carly smiles and bats her eyelids, and I know she’s patronising me. “Oh, and you, of course. You should do it for you too.”
I scoff. “We both know my Prince Charming doesn’t exist.”
She pouts. “Yes, he does.”
“No, he doesn’t. I’ve been waiting all my life for him to ride in on his horse at sunset and whisk me away to live happily ever after, and he hasn’t. Not once.” I throw my hands in the air. “So why should I bother ‘decorating’ myself while waiting for him? I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t bother at all.”
