Read Reinventing Mona for Free Online Page B
Authors: Jennifer Coburn
was a good compromise, I figured.
“Listen, maybe you’re right,” I reluctantly conceded.
“There is a God in heaven!” she rejoiced, dramatically gesturing above.
“If there is, He’ll spare me any further analysis from you.” I smiled. “I’m not giving up on Adam, but I’ll reinvent myself to become somebody you’ll like, too.”
“I already like you, Mona. Go through with the little makeover if you need to, but be sure the person who loves the new you is the real you. For the record, I think you’re perfect already. Misguided for sure, but I do love you. You’re my oldest friend in the world, do you know that?”
You’re my only friend , I didn’t say.
* * *
On the drive back to Coronado, I stopped at a newsstand that sells every glossy from Good Housekeeping to barely legal porn. Good Housekeeping promised tips on how to keep my husband hooked. A little too soon for this, I decided. I navigated my way around the store until I found the section with fresh-faced fifteen-year-old vamps on the covers — the single women’s mags. The cover stories barked at me, beckoning like restaurant hosts in Athens and Rome who promise the ultimate culinary satisfaction. If love had a library, this was it.
WIN HIS HEART IN 30 DAYS! leapt off the stand and into my arms.
YOUR GUY, YOUR WAY! GETTING WHAT YOU WANT FROM HIM NOW! seemed a bit aggressive, but I needed to be a student of dating, and these smoky-eyed women seemed to really know their stuff.
BUILD A BETTER MAN TRAP! seemed cute, though I hated the idea of capturing Adam. My plan was to help him see what I already knew — that we were a perfect match. Once he saw this, he’d pursue me. The idea of rigging a contraption of head games was unappealing, but I was curious what the article would advise. After all, knowledge is power and I needed a healthy portion of both.
TEN THINGS THAT FREAK GUYS OUT! I hadn’t considered this, but if I was serious about being a scholar of seduction, I had to learn about potential mistakes before I made them.
DRIVE HIM CRAZY IN BED! Okay.
MAKE HIM BEG FOR MORE! Please, please!
REAL GIRL MAKEOVERS! Jackpot!
TURN HIS HEAD WITH YOUR FABULOUS ASS! Surely the editor was fired for that one.
I loved the verve. The exclamation points alone sent me into a wild magazine-hoarding tizzy until I had to set my pile onto the counter while I continued browsing.
SEX IN ONE DATE OR LESS, another cover blurb boasted. Oh, the men’s section.
BE THE GUY SHE TELLS HER FRIENDS ABOUT — THEN DO THEM, TOO, chest-thumped Y Chromosome .
WHAT I WISH CHICKS KNEW, offered another. These men’s magazines intrigued me. They sounded like the raw facts, not some processed, feminized version of the truth. I needed to know what a Neanderthal of a guy really, truly felt about women — and what this guy wished we knew. The kind of stuff he talked about with his buddies after a rugby game, when he’s sweat-drenched and pumped with testosterone. I wanted to hear from the worst of the dogs, not some freshly showered pansy in a pastel combed cotton sweater that Glamour found nibbling a scone in a coffee shop. I didn’t want tips from guys who are being interviewed for a women’s magazine because they are most likely completely and thoroughly full of shit. Nonetheless, I would read the women’s mags and see what they had to say. These writers certainly knew more than I did, so there was absolutely nothing to be lost reading what the pouty lip brigade had to say about men.
I brought my final selection to the counter. Maximum for Him . Translation: minimum for her. Opposition research. I could barely contain my grin at the thought of delving into this colossal pile of information. I felt like a spy about to cross the border of another country. I felt alive.
Chapter 7
I always drive the same route home. I cross the blue vein of the Coronado Bridge, head straight through town until I hit Alameda Avenue, then drive it all the way down toward the
“Listen, maybe you’re right,” I reluctantly conceded.
“There is a God in heaven!” she rejoiced, dramatically gesturing above.
“If there is, He’ll spare me any further analysis from you.” I smiled. “I’m not giving up on Adam, but I’ll reinvent myself to become somebody you’ll like, too.”
“I already like you, Mona. Go through with the little makeover if you need to, but be sure the person who loves the new you is the real you. For the record, I think you’re perfect already. Misguided for sure, but I do love you. You’re my oldest friend in the world, do you know that?”
You’re my only friend , I didn’t say.
* * *
On the drive back to Coronado, I stopped at a newsstand that sells every glossy from Good Housekeeping to barely legal porn. Good Housekeeping promised tips on how to keep my husband hooked. A little too soon for this, I decided. I navigated my way around the store until I found the section with fresh-faced fifteen-year-old vamps on the covers — the single women’s mags. The cover stories barked at me, beckoning like restaurant hosts in Athens and Rome who promise the ultimate culinary satisfaction. If love had a library, this was it.
WIN HIS HEART IN 30 DAYS! leapt off the stand and into my arms.
YOUR GUY, YOUR WAY! GETTING WHAT YOU WANT FROM HIM NOW! seemed a bit aggressive, but I needed to be a student of dating, and these smoky-eyed women seemed to really know their stuff.
BUILD A BETTER MAN TRAP! seemed cute, though I hated the idea of capturing Adam. My plan was to help him see what I already knew — that we were a perfect match. Once he saw this, he’d pursue me. The idea of rigging a contraption of head games was unappealing, but I was curious what the article would advise. After all, knowledge is power and I needed a healthy portion of both.
TEN THINGS THAT FREAK GUYS OUT! I hadn’t considered this, but if I was serious about being a scholar of seduction, I had to learn about potential mistakes before I made them.
DRIVE HIM CRAZY IN BED! Okay.
MAKE HIM BEG FOR MORE! Please, please!
REAL GIRL MAKEOVERS! Jackpot!
TURN HIS HEAD WITH YOUR FABULOUS ASS! Surely the editor was fired for that one.
I loved the verve. The exclamation points alone sent me into a wild magazine-hoarding tizzy until I had to set my pile onto the counter while I continued browsing.
SEX IN ONE DATE OR LESS, another cover blurb boasted. Oh, the men’s section.
BE THE GUY SHE TELLS HER FRIENDS ABOUT — THEN DO THEM, TOO, chest-thumped Y Chromosome .
WHAT I WISH CHICKS KNEW, offered another. These men’s magazines intrigued me. They sounded like the raw facts, not some processed, feminized version of the truth. I needed to know what a Neanderthal of a guy really, truly felt about women — and what this guy wished we knew. The kind of stuff he talked about with his buddies after a rugby game, when he’s sweat-drenched and pumped with testosterone. I wanted to hear from the worst of the dogs, not some freshly showered pansy in a pastel combed cotton sweater that Glamour found nibbling a scone in a coffee shop. I didn’t want tips from guys who are being interviewed for a women’s magazine because they are most likely completely and thoroughly full of shit. Nonetheless, I would read the women’s mags and see what they had to say. These writers certainly knew more than I did, so there was absolutely nothing to be lost reading what the pouty lip brigade had to say about men.
I brought my final selection to the counter. Maximum for Him . Translation: minimum for her. Opposition research. I could barely contain my grin at the thought of delving into this colossal pile of information. I felt like a spy about to cross the border of another country. I felt alive.
Chapter 7
I always drive the same route home. I cross the blue vein of the Coronado Bridge, head straight through town until I hit Alameda Avenue, then drive it all the way down toward the