Wherein I Try to Sell You Sh*t, But Also Give You a Present (sort of)

Are you a mother? Do you have a mother? And do you like martinis? (Of course you do.) Then you should get this fabulous new anthology to which I’ve contributed:

 

M & M

 

 

It’s available on Amazon in paperback for $13.49 (this week) and on Kindle for a mere $3.99. Think of how many Starbucks concoctions you’ve purchased for $3.99—and those last only a few sweet, sweet moments. For the same price, you can entertain yourself and your friends all summer long with 37 heart-warming and/or hilarious stories about motherhood AND 37 delectable martini recipes, with toasts!

No, this isn’t a humor piece. I’m actually putting aside my aversion to solicitation and asking you to buy this book—although I feel a little sick, like when I had to “audition” to be a hostess at the Ground Round by selling the dessert of the week to some imaginary “guests.” (As the words “a real tasty treat” escaped my mouth, a piece of my soul expired.)

Do you belong to a book club? Consider Martinis & Motherhood for a summer selection. It’s short, and it can be read in snippets while you’re enjoying a rare few moments of solitude on the toilet or in the pantry, where you go to cry and eat cookies. Then your book club can laugh together as you discuss the essays over martinis like the Pelvic Floor, the Breasticle, and the Shit-Storm.

In fact, I’m even going to give you the SUPER-SECRET recipe for the martini that accompanies my story, the Chocolate Kiss. Because everyone should experience the deliciousness for free, and also because I feel bad that I haven’t offered my readers anything of value for the last three weeks. I don’t even have a martini story for this post, unless you count my first martini ever, which was purchased by Ray on the 13th floor of the Belvedere Hotel back in the days before I had wrinkles, spider veins, and a thick layer of abdominal fat. We were on a double date, but I don’t remember the guy he set me up with, possibly because I fell asleep on the table. I think Ray is still pissed about it, but he should let it go because A) I’m married now and B) it’s his fault for giving me a strong drink after ten p.m. on a Friday. Teaching is hard work. If he wanted me to be the life of the party, he should have given me mango-infused vodka at 6 p.m. on a Saturday, because that’s when I proclaim that I’m The Real Slim Shady and make out with a movie poster of Rocky the Flying Squirrel on a shelter at a bus station.

 

The Chocolate Kiss

1 ½ oz. vodka

1 ½ oz. clear crème de cacao

Due to copyright issues, I can’t give you the rest of the ingredients, but I can give you hints.

Also include ½ oz. of a liqueur that’s flavored like a nut that contains cyanide in its raw form and can therefore kill you.

Finally, add ½ oz. of the juice you should drink in its unsweetened form to prevent bacteria from sticking to the urethra.

And 1 chocolate kiss, of course.

 

When you make the Chocolate Kiss, don’t forget to toast to commercial holidays, ninja weapons, and public defecation. (You’ll understand when you read my essay).

 

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I am so excited about being selected for this anthology and appearing with writers I adore. It’s been a pleasure to work with Shannon Day (Martinis & Motherhood) and Tara Wilson (Don’t Lick the Deck) of Tipsy Squirrel Press. I had the privilege of meeting these ladies at BlogU, and they were both so friendly and approachable.

Here’s to the first of (hopefully) many publications. Cheers!

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