My New Neighbor

I'm in Love with a Stripper?

Yup. I’m convinced that I’m the biggest nerd. Anyone involved in my morning routine would agree. Just ask Lacee. It starts with music, brought on by my iPod on shuffle. Then, followed by questionable acts such as the Dougie or the Bernie. If you’ve seen neither, I suggest becoming best friends with YouTube.

This particular day has a random act of kindness thrown in the mix. I’m making eggs, bacon, and toast. Shoot, now burnt toast. Dangit. Too much singing into the spatula and not enough actual cooking. That’s what a whole loaf of bread is for right? When you lack the perfect toasting skills, there’s more to try again! One day I dream of being a professional toaster. In another life, of course. Dream big!

I gathered all the contents of the completed breakfast and neatly placed them on a tray. Personally, I’m not a breakfast eater. Fruit and/or cereal bars suit me just fine. Grabbing the tray, I spun around, only to hear the faint gasp escape from my mouth as everything crashed to the floor. Shoot.

I could see my reflection in the long mirror on the wall opposite me, food all splayed out at my bare feet. I really looked a mess, with my hair tangled in a messy bun, white square-framed glasses that rested firmly on the bridge of my nose, and still proudly bundled in Zyler’s charcoal button up.

My eyes averted to the direction where a soft low chuckle had emerged, squinting themselves into the proper glare format.

“My goodness!” My hand rested over my beating heart, “How long have you been sitting there?”

My cheeks flushed warm, embarrassed at the thought of Zyler seeing me in all my dancing glory.

“Through your point and jig, the Dougie, even the stanky leg.” Zyler mused with a wave of his hand, “Oh and I’m definitely contacting Avenged to let them know how well you air guitar Syn’s solos.”

You guessed right. Or, at least was thinking something along the lines of my mental suicide. Maybe I could slip on an egg and die by a fork to the eye. How cool would my obituary be!

“At least I can be proud of the second statement, faux guitar or not, I have stellar impersonating skills. Brian would be proud of me.” I nodded matter of factly, bending down to clean up the mess.

The front door squeaked open and the flapping of flip flops grew louder until Lacee appeared, leaning her arm against the breakfast bar, that Zyler was currently mounted on a stool at.

“How many pieces did you burn this time?” A grin plastered on her stupid face.

I pondered as I picked the tray up, mentally counting the burnt pieces of toast. The smell of the burnt goodness still lingered in the air, overpowering the smell of the things I did make correct. Ok, so sue me! Thing. I didn’t burn the eggs, ok?

“Only six.” I mumbled, heaving the tray into the sink with a frown.

OFFICIAL PICK ON CHLOE DAY HAS BEGUN. Lovely.

“Wow that’s better than last time! I’m so proud of you.” Unfortunately, the sarcasm leaked through her last sentence.

“Well she may not be able to be a professional cook, but might make it as a backup dancer for 36 Mafia.” Zyler smugly added.

“A chef.” I had to correct him to keep myself afloat, “And I have a job which I’m great at in case you forgot. Thankyouverymuch.”

Hmmm. Who’s wearing the smug look now, haters!

“Did she do her signature jig?” Lacee turned to Zyler, as if blocking me out.

“It was the best thing I’ve..” Yea, I’m cutting Zyler off right there.