As I finally settle into bed for the evening, I start to catch up on my Facebook notifications. Well, attempt to at least. Lately, they’ve been coming in by the dozens.
One notification, in particular, stands out to me immediately as I recognize the name.
Omg! It’s James Prey!
Without any kind of expectation, I had written to him offering to collaborate. I never expected him to respond to me.
He’s a comedian with a large following and it had seemed like a fun collaboration.
His videos are never about anything crafty, but I thought maybe I can teach him a thing or two and that maybe we can get a few laughs out of it.
Focusing on the notification, a smile spreads across my face.
He actually agreed to collaborate?
Well, well, well. Ask and you shall receive indeed.
A small dose of dopamine floods my brain bringing a rosiness to my cheeks.
This is exciting. But why does he want to work with me?
“What’s going on with you?” Jose asks next to me, glancing over my shoulder to see what I’m smiling at.
As I’m filling him in, he already knows who he is.
“That’s awesome. You should do it.”
“Yeah, I think I will. It could be good for business.”
A minute later, I post the news in my small secret friend group on Facebook. My safe space if you will, not that there really is such a thing on the internet. But if it did exist, this group would have been it. I just know that they will be excited for me.
“James Prey agreed to a collab!” I posted to the group.
Almost immediately, the comments flood with congratulations, including from my funny friend.
Most of them seem to already know who he is.
“I love him!” My funny friend says in the comments.
“He’s so funny!” I agree.
Reading on, Molly has commented too.
“I don’t get the hype of internet famous people I guess,” Molly comments. “But I’m tickled that you’re like, giddy over it. Too cute. Congrats sis.”
I can feel my face fall a bit, but I move on to the other comments,
A few minutes later, my funny friend sends me a screenshot of Molly’s input.
“I’m not talking shit,” she begins. “It’s just such a Molly thing to say.”
I realize she’s right. I also realize, Molly never calls me sis. Not like this.
“Well, I’m still excited,” I tell my funny friend. “I don’t care how silly she thinks it is.”
“You should be!” My funny friend assures me. “I mean, fuck yes! Keep me posted!”
“I definitely will,” I promise.
“Thanks for making a paint for people that don’t like to paint by the way.”
I smile at the randomness.
A moment later I receive a picture from her of refinished chest. My heart swells with joy at the sight of it.
“I had a tiny sample and it made me want to paint everything.“
I know exactly what she means.
When I look over next to me, to tell this to Jose, he’s already fast asleep.
Ok, we can chat about this in the morning, I guess.
Moving on to checking my inbox, I scan my messages.
One of them reads, ”What are you looking for in a man?”
I can’t help but roll my eyes at it. These weird messages come in all the time.
Clicking my fingers across the keys I quickly reply,
”3 nipples and money. But only if the 3rd nipple is functional for morning coffee. No nipple cream, no deal. I mean, that would just be weird as fuck ya know?”
Thinking surely he’d get the message, I hit send.
To my dismay, he responds almost immediately.
“Can I see a picture of you?”
Is this dude serious?
“Sure,” I say gleefully. “Just one sec.”
Browsing through my phone, I find a picture of my cat’s butthole. Sending it; I half expect this creep to pry even further.
Instead, he says, “You’re wasting my time.”
I can’t help but find the irony in his statement. That’s exactly what he’s doing to mine.
“Are you saying you don’t like cat buttholes?” I ask innocently.
He doesn’t respond. I can’t tell if I’m disappointed or relieved.
As I’m closing out of the conversation, a notification for my website pops up, and it catches my attention.
Order number 70,000?
I lean back against my pillow, suddenly lightheaded.
When did that happen?
Somewhere between marketing, James Prey, my funny friend, cat buttholes, and a dozen memes later, I drift off to sleep.
The sun rises the next morning and her cheerful beams seem to be dancing all around me. Jose is still sleeping.
My mind begins racing at the first glimpse of those beautiful sunny beams.
Ah. Another day.
Another day to potentially fuck up everything. Oh the possibilities.
I have a funny relationship with optimism. It sneaks up on me in weird ways more often than not. Don’t worry. It’s on and off again. You could say it’s complicated.
The familiar buzz of excitement begins to race through me as I forcefully place my feet on the floor.
Ugh. It’s too early to be this awake.
I slip into the bathroom and close the door behind me.
Locking the door, I slip out of my clothes too. As I’m doing this, I can feel one of my nails snagging.
Letting my clothes fall to the floor, I reach into the drawer for the nail glue, hoping to repair it.
Just a dab of glue should do it.
Momentarily, the memory of my last encounter with nail glue flashes in my mind.
I can still see my hands glued together.
It will be finnnneee,
Ignoring the memory, I impulsively reach for the glue.
I add just a dab and attempt to piece my nail together, being ever so careful.
And just like that, my fingers are glued together.
“Noooooo,” I say out loud. “Not again.”
By now, this has happened to me more times than I can count. Frantically, I put the glue bottle down and sit on the ground next to it.
Once I’m seated, Willow lovingly rubs up against me, flicking her tail in my direction. I smile at her.
I smiled too soon.
In slow-motion horror, her tail knocks the glue over, spilling its violent contents. The glue begins seeping onto the floor as slowly as Father time himself, but it’s not slow enough. Perhaps I am just not quick enough.
I spastically reach to pick it up, only to glue my hands together again.
Fuck fuck fuck.
Suddenly the glue seems to be everywhere.
As I try to stand up, I realize that the pants I had shed to the floor only moments before, are now firmly glued to my feet.
Fuck my life. Can this get any worse?
I know better than to ask this.
Interrupting my moments of adhesive chaos, Jose knocks on the door.
“You ok?” He asks me leaning close to the door.
“Yes!” I say eagerly through the door, hoping I sound convincing.
Don’t come in here. Don’t come in here.
Almost as if on cue, the lock jiggles and he swings it open.
His gaze sizes me up pretty quickly and instantly travels from my hip to my feet. He says nothing at first and just simply stares at me in disbelief.
After what feels like an eternity of silence, he finally says, “And why are your underwear practically glued to your hip?”
It’s my turn to look down in disbelief.
I hadn’t even noticed them. I was too busy focusing on my pants that are still stuck to me, via glue of course.
I glance up at him sheepishly.
“This could happen to ANYBODY,” I insist.
I can’t help but laugh at myself.
How can you run an entire business but you can’t figure out how glue works or ride a bike?
The more I think about it, the funnier it becomes to me. Until the next morning the next morning that is.
As I’m getting ready for the day, I randomly find a bottle of crazy glue in my purse. I stare at it in absolute horror.
Who put this there?
Confused, I text a picture of it to Jose.
“Do you think you’re funny?”
He responds almost immediately.
“Well, I am funny, but I didn’t put that in there if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“It’s exactly what I’m thinking.”
“Well, it wasn’t me,” he insisted.
If he didn’t put in there and I didn’t put it in there, then who did?
Besides, what kind of person would haunt me with glue?
A crazy crafter.
Momentarily, I freeze in my tracks. I can feel a cool set of chills, dancing their way down my spine.
That’s impossible, right?
Treasures by the Sea (Coming in 2024)