One of Renée’s whoop de doo society friends hooked us up with her husband who is the premier real-estate agent in Hilldale. He’s been sending preliminary listings for us to look at and I’m astonished by what he thinks our requirements are. My current little yellow house in Pipsy would be perfect for us and the baby, maybe a little snug but still, pretty darn ideal. Blaine, I swear that’s his name, thinks we require at least ten thousand square feet and a pool. Elliot seems to agree with him. I was surprised by that until I learned he’s 17th in line for the throne. If some unimaginable holocaust hits the royals, I could be living in Buckingham Palace. That’s enough to make any middle-class girl from Pipsy sick to her stomach.
My pregnancy dreams have been fantastically absurd. Just last night I dreamt I was abducted by aliens that all looked like Prince Charles, at various ages. They all wanted to rub my bunion and feed me crumpets. That would have been fine and dandy, except when I threw up on one, he turned into a six foot lizard who licked me with a forked tongue.
Have I mentioned the smells? My nose has become bionic. I can detect skunk before the malodorous aroma has even been released. Elliot’s cologne, that I once found the most intoxicatingly manly fragrance in the world, is now up there with the stench of unwashed feet. He’s been a good sport about not wearing it but I can tell he misses it. I’ve caught him taking a whiff every now and again out of the bottle.
My doctor assures me I will feel better than ever once I hit my second trimester. If that isn’t true, I’m going to see what I can do about being put into a medically induced coma until this nightmare is over. No time to worry about that now though. My subconscious must start obsessing over meeting Elliot’s parents and impressing them as the perfect vessel for their illustrious line. Crap.
Click here to read more of Mimi Plus Two.
The Reinvention of Mimi Finnegan (The Mimi Chronicles Book 1) Page 25
