Fuck It (Yama Yama)

So, here I am, broke and alone. I’m sick of being the good girl who passively accepts her fate. I didn’t spend all those years earning my degree to be a homeless mooch. I have to get back on my feet and it starts today.

Sicily isn’t home when I arrive, but my boxes are already in my room. Thank you, Roman. It’s a nice place, and I’m grateful she’s letting me move in considering I technically don’t have a job. My tax refund allowed me to give her a couple of months’ rent, and left me enough to feed myself until I find another job.

I’ve already emailed my resume to a few gyms and sports teams, but so far, the only place to call me back has been an elementary school. There’s no nice way to say this, but I don’t like kids. I mean, I don’t dislike them. I’ve just never really been around them enough to know how to relate. Still, it looks like I’m going to be a gym teacher until something better comes along.

The first thing I need to do tonight is laundry. Yeah, I packed dirty clothes. Don’t judge me. The laundry room is just off of the kitchen, and I spot a couple bottles of wine in the fridge when I go to grab some water. So water is out and wine is in. I also dig out my little Bluetooth speaker and sync it to my phone. Now I can blast my music.

I love to dance. Dancing makes everything more fun. I shake my ass back and forth between the laundry room and my room, stopping to top off my wine glass every once in a while. A smile settles on my face, despite my circumstances. I should teach a class. How to Make Laundry and Unpacking Fun 101.

Within a couple of hours, my room is somewhat put together and I have a nice little buzz going on. The washer dings, and I dance my way back to the laundry room, throwing open the top loader. One thing I already see I need to buy is a step stool. I can’t reach the bottom of the washer, or the upper kitchen cabinets for that matter. Short girl problems.

I manage to get all but a few items transferred to the dryer before I have to pull my dive headfirst into the washer routine. I’m hanging by my stomach, stretching my arms as far as possible, when a snort of laughter startles me.

Tipping over, I yell, “Fuckety-fuck!” My head bumps the bottom of the washer drum as my legs flail in the air. Two hands grab my legs and pull me back out.

Sicily, my best friend’s sister-in-law and my new roommate, stands in the doorway, trying to swallow back laughter. “Uh…hi, Sicily.” I’ve met this woman only once and this is not the way I wanted this to go. Oh well, she might as well get a glimpse of my weirdness from the jump.

“Fuckety-fuck?” she laughs.

Shrugging, I toss some fabric softener sheets into the dryer and turn it on. “You scared me.” Actually, I should probably try to curb my swearing now that I’ll be working with kids.

Reaching between the washer and the wall, she produces a fold out step stool. “I don’t think my homeowners insurance covers drowning in a washer.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. I…um, owe you a bottle of wine,” I confess, as she follows me back to the kitchen.

“No worries, I always keep a few bottles handy for nights like this.” Grabbing a glass, she fills it and then tops off mine as well.

“Nights when you come home to someone stuck in your washer?”

Sighing, she sits on one of the stools at the breakfast bar. “Nights when I’m trying not to strangle my new boss.”

“Oh no. What’s he like?”

“Anderson Harper,” she groans, draining her glass and refilling it.

“He’s like Anderson? He can’t be as bad as him.”

Really, the man is scum. A serial cheater of the worst kind, with the face and body to lure in woman after unsuspecting woman. We dated for a while, and I trusted him. Had our whole future planned out in my head, wedding, babies and all. God, I was naïve.

“No, he is Anderson. Roman failed to mention when I took this job I’d be working right under Anderson.”

Cringing, I shake my head. “No one belongs under Anderson.”

She turns to smile at me, and we both dissolve into giggles. Maybe this roommate arrangement will work out after all.

Her eyes suddenly widen. “Oh shit, I forgot. You dated him.”

“Until I found out he was fucking every woman within a fifty mile radius. It’s okay. I’m over it.”

“At least he got what was coming to him. Karma bit him in the ass,” she laughs.

If Karma is made up of my two best friends, me, and an old high school crush. “That it did. At least you have a job in your field. That reminds me, I need to send an email. As of tomorrow, I’ll be a gym teacher.”