Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 94823 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94823 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
"Oh my God!"
The words that I had been half-heartedly reading from the email finally started sinking in.
"What is it?" Mary Priscilla excitedly floated off the window sill to peer over my shoulder. "Holy—-"
I glared at her. "Mary Priscilla!"
The brat made a face. "Oh, fine. Holy mackerel. Happy now?"
"My house, my rules," I retorted.
"Whatever." She snatched my cellphone out of my hold and flew away before I could catch her. "Lemme read...wow. You really did find a job!" The little girl sounded so shocked, it was more than a little insulting. "Who knew an old woman like you—-"
I threw one of the square pillows at her, but Mary Priscilla made herself incorporeal just in time, and the pillow simply went through the lacy white ruffles of her dress.
"Cheater!"
But the kid only snickered and stuck her tongue out. Damn brat. Why was I letting this brat haunt rent-free in my apartment again?
DINNER THAT NIGHT WAS extra special. While I'd never admit this out loud, finding a job had been even more difficult than I anticipated, and it had me celebrating with a rare indulgence of one whole can of Pringles.
Employed again, finally!
Believe me guys, hopping back into the employment merry-go-round for a second ride is no walk in the park. It's pure ego-demolishing hell, and especially if you're a forty-year-old made semi-famous locally for being dumped.
I had started by trying to ask for my old job back, but the advertising company I used to worked for already had a makeup vlogger "collaborating" with them on call. Failing that, I had tried to apply for other similar openings, but half of them turned me down without even sparing my portfolio a glance. They tried couching it in more polite terms, but it was pretty easy to read between the lines: they all thought I was too old. So that thing about 'life starting at forty'? Yeah, well, clearly the job marketplace hadn't gotten the memo on that one.
As for the other half...they were willing to give me a try at least, but things ultimately always went south the moment they asked me for the URL of my (nonexistent) YouTube channel. A few - liking enough of my before-and-after shots - had been willing to sign me up if I had an Instagram following. Which I did not...since my account had always been set to private.
The writing on the wall was impossible to ignore by then, but it was still a hard pill to swallow at first. I couldn't understand why everyone seemed to think I had lost my skills just because I wasn't in my twenties. It was as if they thought my brain shed off IQ points with every candle added to my birthday cake.
But...anyway, moving on.
That was my #1 mantra these days. No dwelling on things that were out of my control. If something didn't work, I would simply move on, like I was doing now.
Life started at forty, right?
MARY PRISCILLA FLOATED around my average-sized bathroom while I moved on to Step #3 of my skincare routine. Just between you and me, I used to be the one-soap-cleans-all kind of girl, but now that majority of society insisted on reshelving me under MILF even though I had never given birth?
I put the cap back on my spot-correcting serum and moved on to my moisturizer.
Yeeaah.
I freely admit it. Their judgmental looks had gotten to me, and I've decided to take a proactive approach to wrinkling.
Mary Priscilla poked her head inside the bathroom. "Jason texted you again."
"Pri...va...cy...brat!" It was hard to speak while I was busy spreading moisturizer on my cheeks with the pads of my fingers in slow, circular motions, just like what it said at the back of the box for Step #4.
Mary Priscilla continued nagging me about Jason even as we got ready for bed. Or at least I was. I wasn't quite sure if dead people still needed sleep, and I had never found the courage to ask any of the ghosts about it.
"Hey, Saoirse?"
I had just switched the bedlight off when Mary Priscilla's voice played out in the darkness.
"What?"
"I have something important to say to you."
"Uh—-"
"Spinsters can't be choosers, spinsters can't be choosers!"
Horrible little brat. I should really just stop listening to my conscience and throw this kid out of the window.
"Spinsters can't be choosers, spinsters can't be choosers!"
"I'm so not a spinster—-'
"You are from where I'm standing," the forever-young ghost sniggered.
I grabbed my pillow from both ends and pulled it close to cover my ears, but it still wasn't enough to block Mary Priscilla's singsong voice. Impertinent, pint-sized smartass. How dare she call me the S-word?
"Spinsters can't be choosers, spinsters can't be choosers."
I squeezed my eyes shut.
Whatever.
I was so going to show this brat that age was just a number, and I could still be fabulous at forty. Jason wasn't the only fish in the sea, after all. There was...there was Joaquin, for instance. He was the quintessential tall, dark, and handsome type, and he's made it clear several times that he found me attractive. Granted, he was also very much dead like Mary Priscilla was, but that shouldn't matter.