Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight or any of its characters. No copyright infringement is intended. If I did own Twilight, I would never do laundry again.

Lighten up while you still can
Don't even try to understand
Just find a place to make your stand
And take it easy

****

Two hours later: The margarita machine is clean and filled with a frozen concoction that helps Jimmy Buffett hang on. Maybe it will help me hang on tonight, too.

Three hours later: Tiki torches are lit. Angela's iPod is hooked to my outdoor speakers, and it's not raining, which is newsworthy in Seattle. I'm starting to feel almost light-hearted. This may or may not be because of the two frozen concoctions I may or may not have already drunk…no, drank…no, drunk.

Four hours later: I think Angela was right about the margarita machine. It sounds happy. Whirring and chilling and spitting out frosty goodness, fulfilling its ultimate purpose. Maybe there's something to this brilliant plan after all. Angela did graduate in the top two percent of her class at Princeton.

Five hours later: I'm sitting on the side of the pool with my besties and laughing so hard I might pee in my tankini bottoms. How long has it been since I've been this carefree, this easy? I can't remember. We are all singing along with the music and my tiny friend, Mary Katherine, is dancing on the diving board. She's barely five feet tall. She's the tiniest friend I've had since….Alice. Wow. Where did that random thought come from?

Alice Cullen. I wonder what ever happened to her. I used to think about her often, but lately, it's become almost a daily occurrence that something reminds me of Alice or her family. I still felt bad about the way our friendship ended, but I couldn't find her when I tried and then later I didn't want to find her. If I found her, then I would have to hear about her brother, Edward, and I definitely didn't want to hear anything about him.

For the third time today, tears unexpectedly sting my eyes. I clamber up from the side of the pool and mumble something about the bathroom, hurrying to get there before everyone sees me crying over a boy I haven't seen or heard from in 15 years.

When I get to the bathroom, though, it's occupied. I lean against the wall outside the bathroom and look up at the ceiling light, blinking away the unshed tears.

"Get a grip, Swan." Out loud, again? Really? Why am I talking to myself so much today? And why is it always out loud?

The bathroom door opens and Angela emerges in her tiny red bikini.

"That's the second time I've heard you call yourself Swan today. Did you change back to your maiden name or something?" she asks, swaying slightly. Or maybe I'm the one swaying. I can't be sure.

"No, it's just habit, I guess. I was Swan a lot longer than I've been DiClemente, so the internal dialogue hasn't caught up."

"Yeah, Bella, it's not internal dialogue if you keep saying it out loud," Angela says giggling. Then we're both giggling and I really have to get in that bathroom.

"Wait for me," I call, running in and shutting the door. I splash cold water on my face before going back out. I look like hell, but at least my tears are under control now. When I come out, she's leaning against the wall I previously occupied, studying me.

"What?" I'm suspicious already. I've seen this scheming look on her face before and I know it has something to do with this Operation thing she's dreamed up. These looks usually mean big, fat trouble for me.

"Bella, that momsuit does nothing for you. We need to shop tomorrow. Objective #3 in the OGBLTW Plan." I am impressed that she can remember all those letters at this point in the tequila. I mean evening. "Your wardrobe is no good for luring a Sex God. We need outfits that say 'Come hither. Let's do shots and then do each other'. I mean, seriously, you have a great body under there somewhere. It's time to take off the granny panties, put on the thong and get back in the game."

It is a testament to the courage given to me by my friend, Jose Cuervo, that I say, "Okay."

****

Angela drags me back outside where only Mary Katherine and one other friend, Emma, are still in the pool area. I guess Ang and I were inside longer than I thought. But these three are my closest friends and Angela wastes no time filling them in on her plan. Mary Katherine is practically jumping up and down with excitement and volunteers to come shopping with us. It's probably good for me; even though her style is more trendy than mine, it's better than Angela's style: tight and short.

Emma stares me down with her ice blue eyes. "Fucking finally, Bella. I thought maybe you were just gonna put up concertina wire down there and hang a 'No Trespassing' sign. Ang, don't forget to hit the lingerie department tomorrow. I had to borrow panties here last summer once and they almost came up to my tits. They were like pantaloons or some shit. My grandmother has better lingerie than Bella."

I raise my eyebrows at this comment. I had no idea my granny panty ways were so well-known among my friends.

Before long, my three best friends sit at the patio table to dissect my wardrobe, declaring it completely lacking for attracting the opposite sex. Mary Katherine even starts making a list on her iPhone of essential items we (meaning I) need. She must have noticed the dejected look in my eyes, because she winked her little hazel eye at me and patted my hand in a comforting way.

"Guys, I'm not totally on board with this plan. I don't think I can just pick a hot guy and decide to have sex with him. I mean, I'm not a prude, but I've never had casual sex before," I interject before they get completely carried away.

"Then, Bella, it's about fucking time you did." Emma leans forward in her chair and levels me with that icy stare again. "You do not want to head into your sexual prime in the midst of this drought. You'll be like the fucking desert sand and just soak up any water that decides to rain down on you. Don't you want to be a little more choosy and hold out for, say, Pellegrino? Or at least Evian? You don't want to just take the bottled municipal water, do you? Choose, Bella. Choose your water." She sits back and nods at me like she's just delivered some deep, philosophical, sexual decree.

The rest of us sit in stunned silence. Drunk, stunned silence, but still, it's impressive that Emma has quieted all of us with one weird analogy.

Luckily, I am saved when Ben, Angela's husband, hollers through the wrought iron fence. "Angela, it's after midnight. When are you coming to bed?" Ben sounds lonely…and whiny.

Angela calls back, "I can be naked in two minutes if you can."

"'Night, Ladies!" Ben calls over his shoulder as he races back to his back door.

"See, Bella? This is what you need. A hot guy that will make you drop your panties in two minutes or less. See you tomorrow, girls!" Angela grabs her sandals and runs for the gate to follow Ben home.

"Ben is like Fiji water. Nobody's really sure where it comes from, but it tastes okay and the bottle's cool." More Emma wisdom. Yeah, she'll be spending the night in the guest room. No driving for the drunky philosopher.

****

An hour later, the party mess is all cleaned up and I'm finally ready for bed. Out of curiosity, I look through my panty drawer and burst into tears (again) as I search through my unmentionables. All cotton briefs. Not even any cotton bikinis. No satin. No silk. No thongs. When did this happen and how come I never even realized it?

"They're right, Swan," I say to myself. Out loud again. "You are the granny panty wearer."

I gather up all but one pair for tomorrow and carry them to the kitchen where I use my fancy kitchen shears to shred every pair.

I climb into bed with a smile on my face and an uncovered Lily.