Page 91 of Turnabout Is Fair Cosplay
I’m so tired. It’s all I can do to get through my FroggoDoggo walks. Happily, no one bats an eye when I arrive in my cosplay shame. Pleather leggings and a new Mitch’s Surf Shop sweatshirt zipped up to my neck fit right in with athleisure wear. At least I had spare sneakers in my trunk.
When I finally stumble home that afternoon to my cottage, I’m so exhausted I’m near comatose. It’s not a satisfying tired, the kind that accompanies purpose and value. It’s like I was stuck in an airport when the last leg of my flight was canceled after I already took two planes. It’s a soul-crushing tired that takes you down physically, mentally, and emotionally.
I’m tired.
I’m vibing, and I’m tired.
My life is unstructured, and I’m tired. Too tired to eat. Too tired to shower. Too tired to do anything except change into pj’s and collapse on my bed.
When I wake up Saturday morning, I realize I’m not just tired but sick. I cancel all my regular FroggoDoggo clients because I have a fever and will not be going anywhere. When did it become this physically demanding to cancel appointments?
I have to take a power nap before I send off the last one. The only reason I wake up is because my phone buzzes with a text.
I’m sorry, Mrs. Hurst, but I will not be taking your Shar-Pei out for her walk and Saturday grooming this afternoon,I tap out.
Why do my hands ache? Was it because of how hard I gripped the steering wheel last night…morning…whenever it was when I drove around sobbing?
“Rant with all the sad-face emojis you want,” I say, pulling my blanket up closer to my chin, “but I’m not going to make it.”
I wake up sometime in the afternoon. I reach for my phone to check the time only to drop it. I’ll leave it there. It’s not worth the effort to pick it up off the floor. I’m freezing.
I suddenly understand why lizards and snakes sun themselves. I need to sun myself. I’ll try it right after another power nap.
When I wake up next, I’m even sicker.
Muscles ache. High fever. Bone-chilling fatigue. And so cold.
I grab my comforter and pillow and hobble out to my Bali bed in the sunshine. Warm, delicious sunshine.
I lie down, curling into a fetal position, my duvet wrapped tight around me, and drift off to a fever-dream high.
I should be out with Feefee the Shar-Pei, then Cosmo the bulldog, then Mitzy Princess Kitty. She had a tea party scheduled for her Instagram stories. I was supposed to bring the petits fours. Oops.
I lean back on my pillows, my consciousness drifting in and out. Do I need to be at the courthouse? Was I asked to officiate at a pet wedding? I’m not a judge, so I can’t marry anyone, but did they need a witness? I can be a witness even if I’m not a lawyer anymore.
“What do you mean Bea’s in love with me?”
The words cut through my fever high like a bucket of ice water splashed in my face. That was Mike’s voice.
“Which one was Bea?” an unfamiliar male voice asks. “The redhead bombshell or the hottie working the register?”
“Dude, a little respect please.” That one’s Adam. “She is my sister.”
“And she lives right next door,” Mike says. “You mind keeping your voices down?”
“No, man,” Adam says. “She has her pet-sitting gigs all Saturday afternoon. You’re in the clear.”
Mike sighs, and I hear the scrape of sandpaper on wood. “She was the brunette at the register. The feisty one.”
“The one you stole my bike to chase.”
“Borrowed, Vlad. I borrowed your bike,” Mike says.
“And?” Vlad asks.
Mike clears his throat. It’s a small tick he has when he can’t remember a line. “She wasn’t interested.”
Adam snorts.
