Thirty-Two Going On Spinster (The Spinster Series Book 1)

by Becky Monson

  Thirty-Two

  Going On…

  Spinster

  BECKY MONSON

  Thirty-Two Going on Spinster

  Copyright © 2012 V8 Becky Monson

  Cover Art by Brad Condie

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under the copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without prior written permission of the copyright owner. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the copyright owner is illegal and punishable by law.

  Other Books by Becky

  Thirty-Three Going on Girlfriend

  Thirty-Four Going on Bride

  Speak Now or Forever Hold Your Peace

  Take a Chance

  Connect with Becky

  Website

  Facebook

  Instagram

  Twitter

  To my type B personality that starts so many things and never finishes them, I’ve beat you this time!

  To my hubby and children who inspire me and make me crazy all at the same time.

  To my friends and family that I love and adore. This girl didn’t end up a spinster because of all of you.

  Table Of Contents

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  Three Months Later

  Spinster Recipe

  1 Pair of Cellulite Thighs

  1 Non-Social Life

  1 Very Bad Sense of Style

  1 Single-Wide Trailer (or Parents’ Basement)

  1 Cat (or more, according to taste)

  1 Lack of Motivation

  Directions: Mix together and then cry yourself to sleep.

  CHAPTER 1

  Main Entry: spin•ster

  Pronunciation: 'spin(t)-stər

  Function: noun

  1: an unmarried woman of gentle family

  2: an unmarried woman and especially one past the common age for marrying

  3: a woman who seems unlikely to marry

  It certainly shouldn’t come as a shock. I’ve always thought of myself as a recluse, a loner of sorts. Now I have a new title: spinster. I think I need some ice cream or an entire chocolate cake … or both.

  I am a spinster. I am a spinster. It’s true. I just looked it up in the dictionary, and there was a description of my life in plain view:

  1: an unmarried woman of gentle family.

  I’m an unmarried woman of gentle family. Okay, so I’m not quite sure what is meant by “gentle family.” I wouldn’t exactly call my family “gentle,” more like obnoxious. Still, I’m an unmarried woman who is part of a family, so that counts.

  2: an unmarried woman and especially one past the common age for marrying.

  I believe that I’m past the common age for marrying. I just turned thirty-two. What’s the going age for marriage now? Twenty-five? Twenty-six? It doesn’t matter because at the age of thirty-two, my clock is ticking. In fact, my doctor informed me of that last week. He actually told me that I should consider finding someone and settling down because my eggs “weren’t getting any younger.” Pretty harsh when you consider that I haven’t been on a proper date in over a decade, right? I seriously should find myself a new doctor, one who sugar-coats everything. I could use more sugar-coating in my life right now.

  3: a woman who seems unlikely to marry.

  This one has to be the worst of them all. That’s so me. I bet when people look at me that’s what they’re thinking. I get that pity look all the time. The one where people tilt their head slightly to the side, purse their lips, and nod sadly at you.

  Today was pretty rough as it was, with a rudely written email from my boss, a ticket on my car when I poorly parallel parked to get some take-out, and a flip of the middle finger from some guy for no reason at all. Okay, I may or may not have cut him off, but was a hand gesture necessary? I think not.

  Anyway, I came home and decided to watch the news. I never watch the news, but for some reason today I did - big mistake. The lead-in story for the second half of the show—which I thought was ridiculous—was about this strange old lady who sat out on her porch all day, yelling at her neighbors. I thought it was bizarre that they were using this for a lead-in, but it worked because I hung around to see more.

  Apparently, this lady caused quite a stir in her neighborhood. To me, she was the epitome of a spinster, from the trailer park, to the cats, to the scraggly hair and missing teeth. She was also wearing some sort of muumuu gown, and I’m quite sure there was no bra under there.

  Just for the heck of it, I decided to see what Webster’s definition was for spinster. I looked it up on my smart phone, and there it was: my life in Webster’s dictionary. You suck, Webster.

  How did my life become so average? Truth be told, I’m just a plain old nobody, a nobody who swore she’d be somebody. So much that when I was twelve, I bet my younger brother five dollars that I’d be famous by the time I was fifteen. He’s never let me live it down.

  I was going to be a famous actress or singer or anything that would get me to meet Brad Pitt and marry him. I used to have dreams. I used to have hopes. But now I’ve settled into my little world, and I don’t have much to dream about anymore.

  This is crazy. I was clearly expecting a different definition of spinster when I looked it up. Something like, “a woman who lives alone with multiple cats, in a trailer park.” Not something so close to home as what I found. And yes, I do have a cat named Charlie, but only one. And no, I don’t live in a trailer home. I live in my parents’ basement, which I realize does not sound impressive to begin with, but has now taken on a whole new level of pathetic-ness.

  Maybe I just need to accept it. I should acknowledge the fact that I’m going to die alone and unloved with my cat (or cats at that point). I could start looking forward to the part where I get to start randomly screaming at people. I should stop deluding myself with any sort of dating (not that there has been any, anyway), cut to the chase, and start yelling now. “Get off my lawn, you damned hooligans!”

  But my mom is always telling me to make the best of a situation, so instead of giving in, maybe I could try to find a silver lining. But how do you make the best of being a spinster? Just off the top of my head, maybe I could turn myself into some sort of superhero, like “Spinster-girl” or something. And I could go around doing nice things for other spinsters … or finding all lost cats a home. Or even better (and more realistic), I could be a motivational speaker for women with no life, or hope, such as myself. We could bring our cats to some retreat high in the mountains and talk about our feelings. I would get up in front of them and tell them with as much enthusiasm and drive as I could muster, “It’s okay to be alone. It’s okay to have no one to come home to. It’s
okay to live in a trailer park or your parents’ basement. Embrace your inner spinster, ladies! Embrace her!” This might be my calling in life. I could write a book. I’d be famous. My brother would pay me back those five dollars from our bet.

  Truly, if I’m being honest, there’s no positive spin on this. My only option is to fix it. Sadly, I’m not a “fix-it” person. If we were going down in a boat, and we all knew we were going down, I would not be one of those people who’d be trying to bail us out until the last second. I’d lie down and let it happen. It’s much easier that way. But maybe I need to try this time. I need to get a bucket and bail myself out of my life, one bucket at a time, if I have to.

  Okay, let’s see. What kinds of things do people who are the opposite of spinster do? Well, number one is most obviously to move out of my parents’ basement. I mean, what kind of person lives in their parents’ basement at the age of thirty-two? It’s ridiculous. Of course, I do have a pretty sweet deal. I don’t pay any rent and technically it’s the basement, I have my own kitchen, bathroom, and living room. Except for my mom coming down to visit anytime she “darn well pleases,” it’s not that terrible of a setup. But it’s spinsterish for me to live in my parents’ basement. I seriously need to move out.

  For the record, I’ve been telling myself to move out for the last ten years. Oh, my gosh, it just hit me that I’ve lived here for ten years. And if you cut out the five years I went away for college (yes, I was on the five-year plan), I’ve lived in this house for twenty-seven years of my life. I’m such a loser.

  Number two is to get some exercise. To be totally honest, I can’t remember the last time I actually exercised. Maybe college? I sort of remember having a roommate in college that tried to get me to jog with her. Obviously, it didn’t have a lasting impression on me.

  Luckily for me, so far my genes have saved me from having to become a workout-aholic, but I know I need to start doing something. I’m not what anyone would call fat, but I can certainly say I’m out of shape. So exercise needs to be on the list.

  Number three on my list should be to eat better. I like food. I love to bake. In fact, it’s one of the few ways I have to get away from my mundane life. I love to make sweets, and I even invent recipes of my own. I have to sample things to make sure they’re not poisonous, of course. Again, I have some lucky genes, because honestly, with the sweets that I eat, if it weren’t for my genes, I might end up featured on one of those “they had to cut me out of my house” reality shows.

  Number four on this list would be to get some new clothes and a new hairstyle. I do realize “the Rachel” went out of style a long time ago, however, I’m a creature of habit. It took much arm-twisting and berating by my mom to get me to cut my hair into a style in the first place. I can’t seem to change it. At least I have a style, right? Don’t most spinsters just have oily and scraggly hair? I’m a step ahead in that area.

  Number five would have to be to get a social life. Baking and watching TV are what I do in my spare time. I don’t hang out with friends at all. I get up, I go to work, I come home. I bake most nights, watch TV nearly every night, and then I go to bed. This has been my schedule for some time now, and I’m used to it. This really needs to change. I need a life, a real one.

  Number six would be to do something else for work. I have to pat myself on the back for this one because I’m already taking a step in the right direction. I’m not doing anything crazy like moving to another company; that would be too much for me. Change and I don’t mix well. To prove that point even further than I already have (ahem, parents’ basement), I’ve actually been in the accounting department since I started there ten years ago. I hate that department. I’ve hated it since the first day. Recently though, there was an opening in HR that’s perfect for me, and so I did it: I put in a request for a transfer. I’m dying to find out if I got it. I’m a shoe-in really, so I’m feeling pretty confident about it.

  Okay, considering how much I dislike change, getting myself out of the spinster category is going to be harder than I thought. I will persevere though. I must! I must rid myself of this new title. My life has to become something—something more than what it is now. I have a feeling it’s going to be harder before it gets easier.

  CHAPTER 2

  “So, have you seen the new guy?” Brown asks as she enters my office and plops herself down in one of the cheap blue chairs that sit in front of my desk.

  It’s already been a rough morning for me. I woke up in a rotten mood, for obvious reasons. I’m starting to wonder if giving in to my spinsterhood wouldn’t just be the better/easier option. I could toss the bucket aside now and stop trying to bail myself out. If I give in to it and accept it, I could learn to be happy with it. I could prepare for my future life with only cats to keep me company.

  To top it off, today is another workday, another dreaded day at Spectraltech. It’s crazy that I’ve spent so much of my life in this place. I can’t say it’s flown by, either. It’s a software company and, to be perfectly honest, I’m still not entirely sure what we do. It has to do with back-up systems or software that makes back-up systems run or back-up systems that make software run. One of these days I’m going to have to ask. I’m not quite sure how to do that without someone wondering how I’ve worked here this long without knowing what we do. It’s not as if I’m the one developing the software or trying to sell it. So, why is it necessary that I know?

  “Hello? Earth to Julia? Have you seen the new guy yet?” Brown brings my attention back to her with a look that says something like, why aren’t you listening to me? Don’t you know I’m the center of the world?

  “What new guy?” I finally respond.

  “I haven’t seen him yet. But I think he’s a new hire in HR. That’s what I’m hearing, at least.” She looks at me as if she’s waiting for a reaction.

  “Wait, what? Are you serious?” My shoulders droop as I realize what she’s saying.

  “That’s the word going around the office.” She tilts her head to the side and gives me that pitying look I so loathe. “Don’t worry, Jules, another opening will come along.”

  “You don’t get it, Brown. That was my chance to get out of accounting. When is a chance like that going to come around again?” I put my head in my hands.

  I guess I must resign myself to the fact that I’ll be Henry Nguyen’s assistant for the rest of my life. I’ll be old and brittle and gray (and wearing a muumuu) and still be doing his stupid reports, staring at his disgusting, extra-long pinky nail until the day I die. It’s my stupid, crappy destiny.

  “I know what’ll cheer you up. Wanna go on a smoke break?” Brown interrupts my thoughts of desperation. Of course I say yes. Why would I want to do any work now? I know I’ll have to, but part of me wants to fake sick and go home so I can wallow in my spinsterly-no-new-job sorrow.

  Unfortunately, there’ll be no going home. I have that report Mr. Nguyen asked me to do yesterday, the one I put off until today. Another stupid report that I swear on my life I’ve done before. I just know I’ve already run these numbers. I think he might be losing it. Is it sad that I actually welcome that thought? Mr. Nguyen losing his mind … happy thoughts … Maybe then I’d get a new boss, and then something would be different in my life.

  Brown and I head down the hall to the elevators. Spectraltech provides a smoking area out on the west side of the building. I can actually see it from my office window on the fourth floor. Brown and I meet down there quite often—at least four times a day, if not more. But no one actually cares, or at least no one has ever complained. We get our work done. That’s all that matters.

  I don’t actually smoke, though, so for me, these breaks are just … well, breaks. Brown is the smoker. I think it’s unfair how just because you have an addiction you can’t quit, you get more breaks than anyone else. It just doesn’t seem right. But it would’ve been silly for me to go outside and take all these breaks by myself. Luckily, Brown and I hit it off when she started here, so I ha
ve someone to tag along with. The fact that Brown and I love to gossip makes the breaks even more worthwhile.

  You’d think in a software company there wouldn’t be much gossip. Oh, but there is. It’s pretty remarkable, the information we hear. Between Brown in the sales and marketing department and me in accounting, we find out a lot of juicy stuff.

  Brown is actually Betsy Brown. She hates her first name. Her friends in college started calling her by her last name and it stuck, I guess. I’m not sure why anyone would want to go by Brown, but somehow it fits her. She makes it quirky and cute, just like, well, Brown.

  Brown is the antithesis of me. She has blonde hair, I have brown. She has blue eyes, I have green. She’s skinny and gorgeous, and everyone wants to be her, and well, I’m just … me. I don’t think anyone has ever aspired to be me or be like me. But Brown is totally the kind of person people hope to be like. She has a life, and I’m a spinster. That sums it up right there. She’s been at Spectraltech for four years and is already working her way up the corporate ladder. I’ve already established how far I’ve gone in ten years. A big fat nowhere. Like I said, she’s the complete opposite of me.

  I genuinely like having Brown around. Our breaks make my day more tolerable. I’m pretty sure she feels the same way about me. We are just work friends. We’ve never done anything outside of work, not for Brown’s lack of trying, though. She’s always trying to get me to hang out with her and her friends, go out clubbing, shop for some new clothes, and give me a makeover. She’d probably have me as her little pet project if I’d let her.

  Brown is dying to take me shopping. She’s always saying that I have a “cute figure,” and I need to emphasize it more. I suppose my wardrobe does leave a little to be desired, if I actually cared about my wardrobe. What’s the point in getting all dolled up for work? For Mr. Nguyen to see me? Or the nerdy software guys? There’s no need.