We're currently under a weather warning for heavy rain and thunder. I wouldn't mind, but it's so muggy and it's made my head go fuzzy. Urgh! Let's have a little fun.

Oh! And remember, these blog posts aren't posted in order. They're just Bella having some fun hehehe.

Undercover Revenge

Presentation is Everything, obviously.

Me again. I've had a good week so far, and the responses for the last post were a blast! It seems that many of you agreed with me, in principle, of what I was getting at. It's been great fun reading your comments, and even the Bossman had a chuckle or two, which is a rare thing indeed.

So, here's my point for this week. Why do the women in books have tight curls?

Is there an underground super-secret perm that we readers don't know about? Authors, when you put your characters to bed each night, are the girls wearing super-duper teeny-tiny hair curlers? There is landscaping variation, you know. Landing strips, triangles, shapes. Yes, shapes. I once had mine waxed into a four-leaf clover and dyed it green. And yes, I got lucky that St. Paddy's Day.

Ever heard that expression, I've never been to bed with an ugly person, but I've woken up next to a few? Well, here's my position on it.

Man and woman meet at a club. She's smoking hot, and he's just too yummy to comprehend. He smirks (There is more than one expression on a man, you know) and she swoons (Typical reaction to the 'perfect man'). They go back to his, or hers, and they do whatever.

Why on God's green earth is she still beautiful the next morning? Her hair is always fanned over his 300-count Egyptian cotton bedding, sleeping like an angel. Why isn't her hair a mess? Why isn't her make-up, that's obviously still there, not all over the place a la Alice Cooper? Not even a little dot of drool from the corner of her mouth? I know we escape reality when we read, but that's going a bit too far, right?

Not only is the make-up and hair still perfect, but there's no morning breath? I want to live in this alternative reality!

Now here's my list of words to avoid for the week:

Moist: Be that her eyes when she's crying or her pussy, it should never be described as moist. That word should be used for cakes or possibly feminine wipes, but never for a part of the body.

Manhood: I don't know why this word sounds wrong, it just does. Maybe because I see it as a coming of age term? A boy has reached manhood, etc.… It's a dick, cock, or penis (if you're medically minded). Manhood just sounds wrong.

I hope this week has been good for you. I'm still walking very carefully and still on the pain meds. Bossman, if you're reading, I'm taking another week off.

See you all next week!

.

I am just too good. No, seriously, I'm on a mission and so far, touch wood, it is going perfectly. You see, Prick-a-Doodle-Do had sent me a pile of books to read first thing Monday morning. His selection made me want to start World War Three in his office, however. I didn't. I was being devious instead.

You see, the books he sent me were something my mother would read. Now, there's nothing wrong with that era of literature, if you're into cheesy books, but I don't want to read about heaving bosoms, ripping bodices, or perfectly sculptured mounds. That's just . . . ick. Yes, I said ick. I am not, nor have I ever been a professor of English. I can use the work ick when it's called for.

I was rocking my current mission with awesome speed and finesse.

Would you like to know what I'm up to? Cart dropping. Never heard of it? Okay, I'll explain, but if you ever get caught doing it, don't blame me, you're on your own. Anyway, you drop random, meaningless things into someone's shopping cart as you walk by. Dad started me on it when I was about nine. I was miserable after a dentist's appointment, and he wanted to cheer me up. He put a jumbo pack of condoms in a woman's cart. The funny side? She must have been about eighty. Then he put a large bottle of Vodka in the cart of a pastor. It was silly little things like that. At that age, I didn't know what condoms or Vodka were, but it was what he had done that had cheered me up. But back to my mission.

Some rules. First of all, you have to be selective about who you do this to, what products you use, and of course, where you do it. You have to think outside the box. Talking of boxes, I've just dropped a value pack of super-size tampons in his cart, along with an extra-large tube of lube. Did you know you could buy lube in a supermarket? I also found an extra small glittery cock ring that vibrates. That was in my hand, ready for the right moment. See, this is a great game to play.

All you had to do, to make sure you never get caught, is to never be seen. It's not easy, let me tell you. An hour later, my mission was complete. All I had to do now was distract him enough at the checkout so I could get my revenge. Normally you don't need to distract, but my list of products was long, and I wanted to see it all play out in its finest. Along with the tampons, lube, and cock ring, I'd also put in a size six pink, glittery thong, Glitter Me face moisturizer, and a box of extra-small condoms.

He was just getting to the checkout, so all I needed was to make contact and wait.

Do you realize what books you gave me?

Contact made. As predicted, he couldn't pay attention to his shopping and text me back, so I watched with glee as he read the text, then mindlessly, without paying attention, started to load up his shopping on the conveyor belt.

Mom said they're popular and the sales assistant agreed. Do you not like them?

Oh, and remember, people, put your phones on silent if you bring them into the mix!

No, far from it. My MOTHER reads those, I don't want to read what my mother reads! That's too many kinds of wrong.

I was quick to reply because any minute now, the poor girl at the checkout was going to freak. And then it happened. She held up the pink thong and asked him if he had managed to get the price on them because the tag was gone. I'd done that on purpose, by the way.

The look of pure horror on his face when he looked at the thong, then to her, and then the rest of the belt was just too good for the money.

I even managed to grab a picture of it.

Me: 1

Bossman: 0

.

You. Are. Dead.

Ah, I think he found out it was me. I stand by my previous thought, though. I needed a little revenge after the books he gave me. There was no way I could read them and let those words stay with me, and there was a point I needed to make.

I have no idea what you mean ;)

Yes, I added a wink to the text, but there was no way I could deny it was me. I had waved to him when he saw me pull out of the parking lot, after all.

I set my phone down on the side of the bath and relaxed back, thinking about nothing for the first time today. With all this time off, I'd managed to get some plans together in order to start decorating this monster of a house. After a long lunch with Mom and Dad, we'd decided on doing a run to Home Depot to look at some paint choices. I might've gone for wallpaper, but all I could see online were huge bold flowers. I don't do big, flowery designs like that. I prefer a more traditional décor with darker, warm colors which help me relax.

In the end, I decided to go with a dark green for the upper half of the bathroom walls. I decided to paint the lower half, which was wood paneling, a dark coffee. I know you aren't supposed to have darker colors above light ones, but this is me we we're talking about. I can do anything I want in the house that I live in. My own bedroom is going to be blood red and black. Quite dark and gloomy colors, but I can't stand a room that is minimalist in style or color. I like bold.

I hadn't decided on the rest of the rooms yet, but Mom was advising me to start by getting rid of the very outdated kitchen. Honestly, I didn't mind it that much, and there was no way I was getting rid of the huge coal-fired range cooker. Anything else in the room could go, though.

Do you know how mortifying that was?

I let out a smug giggle. Well, serves him right for making assumptions about me.

Leave me alone, I'm in the bath and off the clock. And FYI, I'll buy my own bloody books in the future.

Bloody? Do you have to swear?

Are you my dad? Now leave. Me. Alone! ;)

He did, in fact, leave me alone and I managed to finish off my relaxing bath in peace. I even got through a chapter of my new book, which I'd chosen before Mac decided to lay across my chest, desperate for attention.

See? Who needs a man when I have Mac to cuddle up to?

.

The following morning, I was quick to get to work because I wanted to get into the city, back home again in time to read, do the standard housework, and of course, have my family over for dinner.

The building still looked like it was a construction site, but I was pleasantly surprised when I walked through the doors to find that all of the dust had gone. In its place were new walls and doors. Granted, the walls weren't more than barren plasterboard, but at least my lungs were saved from the crap-filled air of my last visit.

"Morning, Princess. You're brave, walking in here after yesterday." Prick-a-Doodle-Do actually growled when I stepped into the doorway to his office.

"Yeah, well, I like a challenge. Anyway, I'm busy today, but I wanted to pop in and grab your credit card so I can buy some books," I said, keeping my voice dull and uninterested.

Inside, though, my mind and body were far from it. What is it with men looking sexy when they have their sleeves rolled up? His top button was undone, and he wasn't wearing a tie. Damn, he looks so damn fine. No, I need to keep my head on straight. No sexy Bossman thoughts today, I scolded myself.

"My credit card? You want my credit card to buy yourself some books?" he asked, clearly not amused.

"Yeah. You gave me the assignment of reading the books, the business should have to pay for them," I replied. I didn't need him to buy the books at all, I just couldn't resist getting a rise out of him. It was also nice to see him looking all hot and bothered.

I don't know what it is about him that makes me so angry yet turned on, but it is something that needs investigating. Normally, the moody, brooding type isn't my thing, but there is something about him that sets me off, and I need to know what it was.

"How many books are you wanting to buy, Princess?" He stood up and pulled out his card. Damn, I didn't think it would be that easy.

"I don't know yet, how many do you want me to review?"

"At least one every two weeks? Which reminds me, I also need to teach you how to operate the website so that you can update your column when needed. Sometimes I'll have to be away from the office. It would make sense for you to know how to do that. Also, I have some interviews happening next week that I'd like for you to be here for," he said, grabbing my interest.

"Yeah, what for?"

"We need more office staff. We can't fill up a magazine and website with content from just the few members of staff that I currently have. We need to branch out a little, appeal to more people."

I could see his point, and though I agreed with him, I wouldn't admit that . . . just yet.

"Okay, just let me know when they are, and I'll be here," I replied then took his card quickly and turned to leave.

"Oh, Princess? Revenge is best served cold, just remember that," he said with a wry smile.

"Whatever, Prick-a-Doodle-Do," I replied and walked out of the office.

.

I am not a coward.

No, I am being stealthy.

Okay, so I'm hiding from the Bossman, but it's his fault. Fine, it was my fault, kind of, but that isn't the point. The point is, I am hiding from him, but at least I am still working.

He hadn't been lying when he said the following week would be busy. We—yes, you heard me right—we hired four new staff members to help contribute to the magazine and website. Now, the 'we' part of this is tricky to explain.

You see, I went along to the interviews just to show face. There was no other reason for me to be there, but by the end of the hiring process, I'd somehow been designated as the newbie's boss, and since Prick-a-Doodle-Do was my boss, it made it 'we'. I don't want to be a boss, though. I don't have a bossy bone in my body. Okay, don't laugh, I do, but not in the workplace. I don't know how to do all that grown-up stuff.

I just want to flit about the office during the day and go home to Mac at night. As soon as I told the Bossman this, though, he became even more geared up for me to take over some boss roles. I think in the argument that followed between us that afternoon, I stomped my feet at least six times.

It seemed the more I acted like a little girl, the more he liked it. He goaded me on, which was never a good thing with me, so I retaliated.

I could have quit, I knew that and my parents knew that because I bitched down the phone to them for hours that night, but I didn't quit. Bella Swan wasn't a quitter, but I did make it my personal mission in life to make sure his life a living hell when I was at work.

I also used a huge chunk of his credit card. Now don't hate me, I had a valid reason, and I explained it to him when I gave the many, many receipts to him after my shopping excursion.

Decent books from bookshops were thick, and most of them were long reads. I couldn't just go and buy half the store, then have a review up once a fortnight. So, the store assistant and I came to an agreement.

It made more sense for me to buy an e-reader, as much as I don't like them, and then buy e-books. I can browse them all online, then grab them through download if they are short enough to read and review in the time I need. Sounded like a great plan to me. I'm sure the Bossman's card was ready to melt by the time I got everything bought and set up. Plus, how could I say no to all the little extras? I couldn't, it was that simple. So, I came away from the store a heavy bag of supplies and then I headed to an internet café for a quick bite to eat. That gave me enough time to hunt on some sites for books. Lots and lots of books.

When I got back to the office to hand his card back, I carefully ignored any questions about which books I'd gotten, telling him that I'd have the first review for him the following week. Then I ran back to my car as fast as my little legs could carry me, vacating the premises before he assessed the damage.

Since then I've been ignoring his calls, texts, and there was even a pounding on my front door. It was a good job that Mac had been with my parents for the day. He would've torn the man's pants off because I had him that well-trained. Mac, not Bossman.

Currently, I'm lying on my bed, snacks to my side, while rolling my eyes at the book I'm reading. Do people really write books like this? I'm not joking when I say I'd gagged in a few places as I was reading. Under most circumstances, horror excluded, I had a cast-iron stomach, so for me to gag was saying something.

The more I read, the more bizarre things got. At one point, I even double-checked I wasn't reading a spoof or crack-fic story. It wasn't, which got me thinking about leaving a review for the story. There was no way I could turn potential readers toward it. They'd come after me with pitchforks, or worse, jars of Gertrude's pickled cauliflower tips.

In the end, I couldn't finish the story. Nor could I bring myself to feel guilty about it. I chose a couple more books, and while they weren't as bad as that first one, my way of thinking changed.

In the grand scheme of things, I knew I had to run my idea past the Bossman. I would just have to word it in a way that would be acceptable. Instead of writing reviews for the books, I decided I wanted to pick out the bad bits about books in general. To be fair to the authors, I wouldn't name the books, but we, as readers, had to draw the line at what was acceptable. Books and reading were now a huge part of our culture, and it seemed that most of these books were thrown together with half-naked people on the front of them just to make a quick buck. How is that fair for the reader?

Now I just need to convince Bossman. Wish me luck?

I will neither confirm, nor deny, that I have ever 'cart dropped'. *looks all innocent*

Tomorrow's teaser:

My eyes went wide as he choked on his coffee. "What's wrong?" I asked.

"You called me Edward."

Ah, shit, I did.

"This talking nicely thing isn't working. I have a good mind to cause World War Three between us in Home Depot," I muttered. It was supposed to be to myself, but his laughing clued me in that I'd said it loud enough for him to hear.

"All I ask is that you don't throw any tools or cans of paint at me. They hurt."