Confessions of an Ugly Girl Read Online Free PDF

“That’s not Peaches. That’s Muffin .”
    (All of Martha’s cats are named after food.)   
    “Can I just get my mail, please?” I asked meekly.
    Martha sighed and coaxed her cat off my pile of mail. I’m almost positive there was some cat pee on a few of the envelopes, but it was all junk mail anyway. If I ever actually start getting important mail, I’ll definitely have to move.       
     
     
    July 19:
     
    Every Friday night, Donna and I go to this bar by work for drinks. Not that I expect it, but in the ten years we’ve been going there, not once has either of us ever been hit on. Considering guys go to bars to hit on women, it’s a little sad and maybe insulting. Then again, who’d want to date any of those losers anyway?
    Actually, I take that back. The men in that bar aren’t losers. Most of them work at the same company as me and Donna, so they’re guys with good jobs who want to unwind after work, just like us. And a lot of them are young and cute. But still, none of them hit on me.
    But tonight I wasn’t thinking about that. You know why? Because I actually have a date tomorrow. With Harry the Collector, who is possibly a serial killer, but probably not. Despite my resolution to be single forever, I’m actually really looking forward to it. Maybe Harry will be great and we’ll really hit it off. He looked moderately cute in his photo.    
    Donna always gets a Corona with a lime in it and I always get a Guinness. I don’t love beer, but I love Guinness. I could drink like six of them, although I usually just have one so I don’t smash my car up on the way home and end up in jail. The alcohol makes it so much easier to unwind and forget the week. At least my computer was working again without any sign of hieroglyphics. Thanks, Sam.
    Donna was whining about how it was her husband’s turn to do the laundry and he wasn’t doing it. Clearly, Donna has really important problems. I put on my most sympathetic face, but I was only half listening. I do my own damn laundry every week, trudging down two flights of stairs to the basement in Martha’s house with my basket. I think Martha owns the first washer and dryer ever made. Half the time, the dryer stops functioning midway through the cycle and I have to kick it to get it going again. If that doesn’t work, air drying is the only other option.   
    Anyway, Donna was in the middle of a spirited rant about skid marks, when the 20-year-old skinny-yet-big-boobed waitress (who, by the way, gets hit on all the freaking time ) plopped another Guinness down in front of me.
    “I didn’t order that,” I said, rolling my eyes. I know the waitresses here aren’t brilliant, but you’d think they could get my order for one beer correct.
    The waitress gave me a look. “It’s from that guy over there.”
    The first drink a guy ever bought for me at a bar in my entire life! I’m embarrassed to admit how excited I was. I looked across the room to where the waitress was pointing. And guess who? It was none other than Cute Computer Guy Sam. He was with a couple of other guys who looked vaguely familiar from work and he lifted his bottle of beer to me as a greeting. I waved back while Donna gawked at me.
    “Aren’t you going over to talk to him?” she hissed in my ear.
    I glared at her. “No. Why?”
    I had thought the idea of dating Sam was a nonissue when I found out he was disabled, but now, weirdly enough, it was more of an issue than it was before. I looked at Sam across the bar and tried to figure out how I felt about him.
    I’d been out with some pretty unattractive guys before, and Sam definitely didn’t fall into that category. Not exactly. I’d never dated a guy who used a wheelchair before. I felt awkward about it, but then again, it was incredibly hard not to like him. He was cute. Really cute.
    I confess that part of reason I didn’t want to go out with Sam was that I was worried about how it would look. You’d think someone