Blunder Woman by Tanya Eby
Contemporary Romance/Chick Lit/Women's Fiction
Date Published: 1/15/2014
Synopsis
Chloe Knaggs is a bit of a
nerd, a bit of a klutz, and all Blunder Woman, especially when it comes to
love. Take the love of her life, Matt M. - or as she calls him - Mmm. He's her
consummate unboyfriend, meaning, they have all the intimacy of a dating couple
without any of the intimacy. Confused? So is Chloe. When Matt decides to elope
with the very beautiful, svelte Amber, Chloe goes a little bit crazy and takes
her hippy mom and best friend Megan right along with her.
Blunder Woman is a
hilarious romp with bright characters through a series of misadventures
including a derby party gone horribly wrong, a night of drinking Flaming
Turtles, and a fundraising event where the biggest blunder of all occurs.
Blunder Woman is funny, fresh, and above all real...in a truly awkward way.
WARNING: "Blunder
Woman" will make you snort out loud so drinking while reading is not
recommended.
EXCERPT
Two
A Brief (but not brief
enough) History About Matt
I met Matt at a group
training camp, you know those places to which companies take their awkward
employees--employees who don’t get along and work better on their own. So the
Company makes everyone go to a weekend long ‘retreat’ which is really a weekend
long house-arrest without the little ankle bracelets.
I’ve done these things
before.
You have the group leader
and you’re locked in a room with your ‘teammates’ (or office workers who
usually you have nothing to say to), and then the group leader leads you in an
exercise of trust…usually something like falling backwards from a high perch
and hoping to God your coworkers catch you. It’s supposed to teach you about
trust and the importance of working as a team, but I don’t think it translates
at all. During one of these exercises, I actually spend most of the time obsessing
about how much I don’t trust my coworkers and how very little I want to fall
into their arms. But I digress.
I didn’t want to go to the
stupid Employee Esteem Training but I had to. I’d just been hired part-time at
the musical society to write grants and organize fundraisers and I had to show
that I was part of the team, a real go-getter, a team player. (More on this
musical society later. Work is important, but right now I’m talking about the
love of my life.) So the team-building thing was mandatory. No go, no job, end
of story. So I was very pleased to walk into the Wedgwood Center (a.k.a. The
Happy Place) and see a very handsome and very male individual standing in the
center of the room, arms open and smiling. Sex appeal came off of him in waves,
the way the scent of Axe deodorant pours off high school boys.
I can tell you what he
looks like, but it doesn’t do him justice. Descriptions never do, you just end
up envisioning a freakish monster with whatever hair and eye color I’ve
described and try to think it’s sexy. So instead of saying he was tall and had
dirty blonde hair and a wide smile (words that don’t really describe him at
all), I’ll say instead that he was a mixture of Jason Bateman of Arrested
Development quirkiness, with a Harrison Ford grin, and a body (I imagine) just
like an oiled-up man posing in Glamour’s Hot Guy of the Month. This was Matt:
sensitive, sexy, warm, sexy, open, funny, sexy, tall, ripped, sexy, and a smile
that made me feel like he was looking just at me, even if he was looking at
everyone the same way. And he was sexy. Did I say that? Like the kind of guy
that should reproduce because, duh, that’s what we’re designed for, right?
I should have known I was
in trouble right there. A man you’re attracted to somehow makes your brain stop
working. It’s some kind of alien power, I’m sure of it. Attraction equals
instant stupidity.
And when he opened his
arms and welcomed us, I was ready to do any stupid trust exercise he asked,
including the high wire walk between trees, which I did, all the while
screaming, “I hate this! I can’t do this! Get me out of this tree!!!” Then I
looked down at Matt and felt, somehow, I could do anything. Blammo. He suddenly
became my rock, my force, and the new obsession of my life.
Two days later, I called
him at his work. I called at 6:30 on a Sunday, certain he wouldn’t be there,
and he wasn’t, thank the Gods, so I left a truly awkward message.
“Hi! Matt! This is Chloe!”
My voice was so tight and peppy it sounded like I was on helium. “Oh. Chloe
from that group you just had, you know, Mozart fundraiser go-go-go! I was the
one with the curly shortish reddish hair, the one who talked a lot, the one who
screamed ‘FOR GODDSAKES GET ME OUT OF THIS TREE!!!’ Yeah. So I was wondering if
you’d like to go out for coffee with me? Scratch that. I don’t drink coffee,
but maybe you do. You could get coffee and I could get something else. Tea
maybe. Probably hot chocolate. Or maybe just water. And a scone. I like scones.
Do you like scones? Yeah. So. I’d like to meet you. For an un-coffee.
Okey-dokey? Okay.”
Not only had I actually
said “Okey-dokey”, I also hung up without leaving my number. I had to call back
and leave another message that I knew he’d get before the previous message so I
basically had to repeat the entire thing. It was terrible.
He called me Monday
morning.
We had uncoffee on
Tuesday. Followed by unlunch (I was too nervous to eat) and an unwalk (we sat
on a park bench and talked). I thought, I’ve found him. He’s the One, and
leaned in to kiss him. He answered a call on his phone. It was his mom. At the
end of our ‘date’ he hugged me to him, told me he loved spending time with me,
that I was unlike anyone he’d ever met.
I’d been in love with him
ever since.
I’ve loved him for two
years. Two years of incredible conversations and ‘undates’. Of having dinner
together, and movies, and celebrating each other’s birthday parties. Two years
of meeting him for uncoffees and having unsex (meaning elaborate sex fantasies
only in my mind), of being at his beck and call. Two years of celebrating
holidays not on the holiday, but near it. Of talking about our daily lives on
the phone or while curled up watching a movie. And when I stop to think about
it, two years of never meeting his friends, never meeting his family, and
never, not ever, meeting his penis.
I’ve loved him for two
years. Two! I probably love him still. And I hate his guts for that. Really. I
do.
About the Author
Tanya Eby is an audiobook narrator and novelist living in Grand Rapids, Michigan with her tiki-obsessed husband and two quirky kids.
BUY LINKS
Panic by Lauren Oliver
.jpg)
.jpg)
