Whose Midlife Crisis Is It Anyway?

Midlife’s a journey. Enjoy the ride. Crisis included.

Never knew that life after death was far more dangerous than real life.

Never in my forty years did I think my new normal would be gluing body parts back onto ghosts and hosting a houseful of dead squatters. Thank God for superglue and a strong stomach.

Never thought I’d date the Grim Reaper and that I would be the one to blow it. I mean, how idiotic does one have to be to get dumped by a dude who lives in Hell?

Going about business as usual is not usual in any way. No one is who they seem to be … and to be honest, neither am I. What I’d known to be true has turned out to be myth. The Angels are frightening and the Demons are hot. Wait. I mean not. Who am I kidding? The Grim Reaper is very hot—like a freaking premenopausal hot flash hot.

Now I’m in a race against time and all sorts of unsavory supernatural horrors to save my deceased gay husband’s afterlife. And that was a sentence I never thought would leave my lips.

Whatever. I’ll yank up my big girl panties, stock up on wine, and lean on my girlfriends as needed. As they say, when the going gets tough, the tough get inebriated … or something like that.

With everything to lose, I have no choice but to grow some lady balls. That I can do. I just hope balls will be enough.

I had planned to live midlife in peace, not in pieces.

Good luck to me …

© 2021 Robyn Peterman (Hljóðbók): 9798200696369

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Hljóðbók: 27 juli 2021