book cover pic“You’ll have big hips, no boobs and a head full of gray hair by the time you’re
thirty.” Those were the dying words of Mrs. Edwin Neboski to her then prepubescent and painfully adequate daughter, Ginny. “Enjoy the last of your pretty years.”

 If losing her mom to an elephant attack wasn’t scarring enough, the curse Mrs. Neboski managed to cough out in her last breath was a doozey. For the next 19 years Ginny with her thick black glasses and thin flat hair stared at her reflection and thought, “This is as good as it ever is gonna’ get.” She did this every night before she went to bed. It was a ritual for her. A microwave dinner at 6pm, a bad courtroom drama from 7 to 8, and bathroom duties which included teeth brushing, zit popping, self-judgment, self-loathing, peeing, then bed. If she were lucky, she’d fall right to sleep. Mostly though, Ginny watched the water-stained ceiling of her apartment wondering which one of her vitamin and mineral deficiencies would kill her first. She always settled on Iron.

It wasn’t as if Ginny was a morbid person or even a pessimist. In fact she considered herself to have a rather normal, contented outlook on life. But that was the thing. Normal meant regular and regular meant average and average meant terribly, terribly boring. But one random rainy morning life took one of those crazy turns that Ginny Neboski only thought existed in the movies and the good got a lot better.