How can one person attract so much disaster?
Quirky, clumsy, and eager-to-please Karly has more than her fair share of bad luck.
We first meet our 29-year-old accountant in her loud (the fire alarm is going off) and smoky (she’s trying to bake) kitchen. During the chaos, Karly is dumped because of misunderstandings over a divorce lawyer she didn’t hire and an affair she didn’t have. This comes just weeks after performing a very efficient audit on a company…that wasn’t actually a client.
Single and unemployed, Karly continues tripping through life, both metaphorically and physically. She thinks her luck may be turning when she meets the perfect man but in true-to-Karly form, manages to scare him off. And he isn’t just “not returning her phone calls” scared but more “sprinting away across the parking lot screaming like a banshee” scared.
Just as she thinks it can’t get any worse, it inevitably does. Is Karly destined to lead a life of loneliness and poverty or does fate have something else in mind?
Find the Book!
Below is an excerpt where Karly has a team of movers in helping her pack up her apartment:
I’d finished labelling one of the kitchen boxes “2468LMNOP” and was pretending to study the contents of the next box-tin foil, sandwich bags, and saran wrap-to label it “correctly” as “3.14.” Why did I have this feeling I was forgetting something? Oh crap. Condoms! In the bedside table, in my sex drawer! Okay, maybe some people have more in their sex drawer than just rubbers but that’s all I had. Maybe it didn’t even warrant being called a sex drawer. In fact, I-Okay focus, Karly. The point was that I didn’t want these guys packing my birth control up for me. Plus, they were in fun, colorful wrappers. I didn’t want these guys thinking about me having any sex, never mind fun sex.
I had to get back there and protect my virtue before the ninja movers discovered my dirty little secret. Okay, not that I thought that they thought I was a twenty-nine-year-old virgin that didn’t wear any underclothes, but I just didn’t want their large man hands handling any evidence to the contrary.
“We’re all done packing up in the living room,” Ron announced. “Once you’re done we can tape ’em up and get ’em in the truck. Or, if that’ll take a while, we’ll finish packing up your room.”
I needed to keep them out of there.
“Oh no, it’ll take me two seconds.”
I attacked the boxes with the marker. A diagonal line here, vertical line there, horizontal line, squiggle, underlined squiggle, dot, happy face, more undecipherable slashes of marker, and I was done.
“Wow. That’s some complex system. How’d you come up with that?” Ninja Mover Three asked.
“Internet,” I called out as I dashed to my room.
Ninja Mover Four was on his way out with five boxes so I was in the room alone but it wouldn’t be for long. With speed and dexterity that would have impressed the CIA, I ran to the bedside table, threw open the drawer and grabbed the three condoms that were there. Phew! I had them. Now, to stash them somewhere. Crap. Why was this room almost completely empty?
“That’s it in here, then, boys. Let’s get the rest of the bedroom done,” I heard Ron say.
Oh God. I’d thought it would be embarrassing having the movers pack up my condoms but now, I thought it would worse to be caught panicked and frozen in the middle of my empty room with them clutched tightly in my sweaty hand.
In an act of both inspiration and desperation, I yanked up my nightie and shoved the little packages in the back of my panties. My sweatshirt was just long enough to cover any weird lumps that might be poking out of me.
The crew arrived and finished packing up the room while I stood there, in a casual, I-don’t-have-prophylactics-up-my-derriere pose.
“I’m sure we’ve got everything but we should do an overall check together to make sure,” Ron said to me.
“Sure.” I went to walk towards him, moving a little funny as the edges of the wrappers poked around uncomfortably. Oh God. Ouch. And did anyone else notice the crinkling sound coming from my hiney that happened only when I walked?
“You know, I’m happy skipping that part,” I said as I halted to a stop.
“It’s actually company policy, to do a walk through with you so we can’t get in trouble for leaving anything behind.”
I had to block out the noise.
“HERE-WE-GO-INSPECTING-THE CLOSET-AND-HERE-I-SEE-THAT-IT-IS-INDEED-EMPTY!” I yelled in one stream of sound as I speed walked across the bedroom to the closet.
“Okay then.” Ron was understandably looking at me like I was crazy.
We inspected the rest of the apartment with me babble-yelling every time I had to walk. On the bright side, the sudden loss of control over my voice’s decibel level seemed to distract Ron from my funny walking, or from the fact that I still had my bunny slippers on as I stepped out of my empty apartment.
There was no time to get emotional as I locked up for the last time and loudly speed-rapped the first thing that came to my mind (“I’m a Little Tea Pot” – my niece’s request the last time I visited), as I passed the movers and got into my car.
About The Author
Michelle Morgan was born in Vancouver, Canada. She has years of experience falling down for no reason and may have left a wrap-around skirt or two caught in a date’s car door. She currently lives in the Caribbean with her husband, Peter, and their three children, Kiara, Leilani and Kai. Oh – and a three year old goldfish named Angel, who her kids haven’t noticed looks different every time they come back from visiting Nana and Grandpa in the summer.
Michelle is passionate about theatre – watching, writing for, and acting in. Although she enjoys it all, she favours comedy. She is a black belt in karate, a classical pianist, and is addicted to pilates and pad thai.
Check out Michelle’s website and blog at www.mlmorgan.net
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