Shame on You
Author:Tara Sivec

Paige laughs as I glare at her.

“Don’t be angry, Kennedy. It’s a very nice ass. What I’d like to know is, why, in all the conversations we’ve had about your dear, old friend Griffin, have you never mentioned what a fine specimen that man is?” Paige demands, putting her hands on her hips.

“Griffin? Good-looking? Pshaw,” I reply, brushing off her comment.

Griffin isn’t good-looking. Griffin is hot as balls. But Paige doesn’t need to know that I know that she knows I know that. Holy hell, I may have had this hair dye in my hair too long.

“Don’t give me that bullshit, Kennedy O’Brien. Your eyes got all dreamy when he was bent over whispering in your ear just a second ago,” she fires back.

“My eyes did not get all dreamy! I don’t do dreamy!” I shout above the noise of the hair dryer.

Mrs. Justin Bieber waddles over at this point, stands by my feet, and then yaps at me. One short, high-pitch yipe.

“See? Mrs. Justin Bieber even know you lying,” Sven adds.

“Look, I get that he pissed you off. You thought he was your friend and he did something that hurt you. But he’s trying. He wants to talk to you and maybe it’s time you give him a chance to tell his side of the story. If you won’t, I will. Of course, that man won’t have time to talk if I have a few minutes alone with him.” Paige licks her lips as she stares at the door through which Griffin exited moments ago.

If my hair wasn’t wrapped around a brush right now and I didn’t fear losing a large chunk of it by yanking away, I would spring from this chair and smack the horny right off her face. Just the idea of Griffin and Paige alone in a room together doing everything but talking makes me want to throw up in my mouth a little. Just because I’m pissed at the guy doesn’t mean I want him anywhere near one of my friends. My hot model friend who has never had a bad-hair day in her life and never stood in front of a person after months of not speaking to him with foil in her hair, looking like an idiot.

Griffin is going to go back to whatever hole he crawled out of, I’m going to catch McFadden on my own, and I am never, ever going to get caught ogling that man’s ass ever again.

GD fine ass.


But Mooooooom, everyone is going to be at Stephanie’s party. Why can’t I go?” my oldest daughter, Meadow, whines.

“Because you’re twelve. Do you know what kind of twelve-year-olds go to co-ed parties when there aren’t any parents home? Slutty ones, that’s who,” I inform her as I put the last of the supper dishes into the dishwasher.

Meadow is going to be the death of me. I thought having two daughters was going to be trying enough considering I know nothing about being girly. Thank God I have Paige and Lorelei now. At least they can take her shopping when she doesn’t like the jeans and T-shirts I pick out for her. I know you’re not supposed to force your children to be like you, but come on, what parent doesn’t at least try?

I put her in karate class when she was four and she spent the entire six-week lesson doing pirouettes around the other kids and breaking out into random dance moves instead of kicking some ass. I gave her all of my old G.I. Joe guys to play with when she was six and she gave them all makeovers with nail polish and glitter glue. G.I. Joe can never show his face in the line of duty again. When she turned seven I finally had to suck it up and buy her a Barbie.

“Oh my GOD, you are ruining my life!” Meadow screeches at me before stomping out of the kitchen.

“YOU’RE WELCOME!” I shout in reply.

Seriously, she’ll thank me one day when she’s paying a shrink and getting her money’s worth.

Heading over to the fridge, I grab a much-needed bottle of beer and before I can take my first sip, I’m interrupted by a sigh behind me.

Turning around, I see my youngest daughter, Livia, staring up at me with the same annoyed look on her face that I’m sure I have. Yes, I named my daughters after characters on The Sopranos. It’s in my blood to name my offspring after famous people.

“Meadow is in her room screaming about how much her life sucks. Can we trade her in for a new sister?”

Livia is nine and so much like me it’s scary. Everyone calls her my mini-me. Not only does she look exactly like me with long, wavy auburn hair, but she also hates the color pink, her favorite movie is Full Metal Jacket, and on her Christmas list last year, she asked Santa for a Wenger Ueli Steck Special Edition Swiss Army knife.

I’m not gonna lie; I cried a few tears when I saw that at the top of the list.

“No, we cannot trade your sister in for a new model. It’s just a phase. She’ll get over it.”

I hope.

“Why does she want to go to a party with boys anyway? Boys are dumb. And gross,” Livia replies.

Amen, sister.

Boys are definitely dumb. Especially Alex. He was supposed to pick up the girls tonight and take them to dinner but cancelled at the last minute. Via text. He couldn’t even be decent enough to call and tell me, the rat bastard. Meadow immediately tried to take advantage of the situation by telling me that the only thing that would fix her devastation at being stood up by her father was to go to a party. It was a nice try on her part, but I wasn’t born yesterday. Livia, never one to let something like that ruin her day, just shrugged and asked what was for dinner.

Before I can sit Livia down and explain to her all the reasons that boys suck and why she should stay away from them forever, the doorbell rings. For a second as I leave Livia in the kitchen to go answer the door, I actually think it’s Alex, coming over to beg forgiveness from the girls and trying to be a stand-up guy.

I should have known better.

Checking the peephole, I groan when I see Griffin standing on the front porch and fling the door open.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I demand as Livia comes up behind me and shoves me out of the way to go barreling into his arms.

“Uncle Griffin!”

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