On the Rocks Read Online Free PDF

disposable razor. I thought that episode had put my “most humiliating experience” on lock, but it paled in comparison to how embarrassed and ashamed I’d felt lately. That’s really saying something. Spending most of fourth grade without eyebrows was a hugely traumatizing experience, as ten-year-old girls don’t really have much interest in hanging out with someone who accidentally turned herself into a walking mannequin. Trust me.
    As a little girl, I dreamed of getting engaged, though I guess that doesn’t make me any different from any other little girl on the planet who used to wear a pillowcase on her head and pretend it was a veil. I don’t know why girls dream of wedding days the way boys dream of playing professional baseball, but for whatever reason, I was obsessed with the thought that somewhere in my future a day would come when I’d be able to wear a pretty white dress and look like a princess. Deep down, we all want the fairy tale, and if I have to fault anyone for being able to single-handedly combat all of the progress of the women’s movement and still convince little girls that the proverbial dream life begins at the end of an aisle standing next to a man, I blame Walt Disney. Feminism may have come a long way since our grandmothers’ time, but Gloria Steinem is no match for Cinderella, which I’m sure is hugely frustrating for her. It has to be painful admitting that your biggest adversary is actually a cartoon wearing one shoe whose only friends are a pack of mice. Whatever. As far as I’m concerned, Cinderella can suck it.
    Since everything happened, I had turned myself into a hermit, rarely leaving my apartment for anything other than my walk to and from work. I saw no reason to leave when I could have food, movies, dry cleaning, and alcohol delivered. I had no interest in being out there anymore with normal people who had normal relationships and didn’t have to wear a big hat and sunglasses every time they walked by Vera Wang to keep from being recognized by the salesladies. I was pretty sure if they saw me they were going to chase me down the street and hit me with a bill for Grace’s champagne. I was fairly certain they didn’t appreciate customers who downed their Moët and then left an expensive gown in a heap on the floor while they bolted from the store in tears, but in my defense, at the time, that was not how I saw that afternoon ending.
    Fate can be a finicky bitch.
    After that I just gave up. I know I probably shouldn’t have, but I resigned myself to a life alone, broke, and, apparently, fat. Not exactly how I pictured my thirties starting out. I don’t know what I did to anger the universe so much that it felt the need to sucker-punch me the way it did, but I figured there wasn’t much point in worrying about it anymore. Instead, I locked myself in my apartment, let my bills pile up, let my friendships wither away, and let myself dry up like a prune. It might not have been the best of coping mechanisms, but the sad truth was, my apartment was the only place left on earth where I felt safe. The only way the universe could screw with me in there was if it put Häagen-Dazs out of business or blew up my cable box.
    When Grace called me earlier that week begging me to meet her to do some shopping, I hesitated, much preferring to stay home alone than brave the masses, but eventually I caved. I knew that getting out of my apartment was a good idea, especially since my couch now had a permanent indentation from the excessive amount of time my fat ass had spent on it, and I couldn’t afford to buy a new one. It’s comical what motivated me to do things these days.
    I took a quick shower and left my building, glancing nervously over both shoulders like I was expecting someone to jump out of the bushes and assassinate me. I walked through the Back Bay and met Grace on the corner of Newbury and Dartmouth Streets. As soon as I saw her, I knew she was going to ambush me with