Manic Attack

IV. Hilfiger It Out

I woke up the next Sunday morning with my body feeling hotter than California. Literally, I had a fever six degrees higher than the normal body temperature.

Dan had already left for work before I woke. I was back to being all alone in my house with nothing to do but take Billy for her daily walk and then spend the rest of my Sunday in bed watching poorly executed Netflix movies.

Saturday had given me a shocker with my name in the tabloid headlines. Sunday had given me a fever and no energy to do anything else other than catch up on shows and my beauty sleep. Then came Monday, which- according to the American system- was the first working day of the week. I liked Mondays. Everyone hated it and it still managed to do its thing. Very inspiring.

I was seated in my cubicle, starting up my clunky MacBook, ready to tackle whatever the day had in store for me with a newfound vengeance. Logging into my work inbox, I was pleasantly surprised to see a manageable number of unread emails waiting to be addressed. No wonder I loved Mondays so much. People were too miserable working to fret over their aesthetic troubles.

Dear Miss Manic,

Reading your column and blog are some of my favorite things to do. Your bits of advice are always so useful and your beauty hacks never ever fail!
Yesterday, I was by the beach working on my tan when I fell asleep. My little brother thought it would be a good idea to pull a prank on me and it turned out horribly wrong. While I was sound asleep, he took off my hat and covered my face with his Speedos instead. I woke up to find tan lines on my face resembling an underwear's outline. Please help me out of this mess. I'm on the verge of breaking down.

-Tanned & Distressed

Fixes like these were usual although this one, in particular, was an extra amount of weird. Most readers of the magazine #GetTrending were avid followers of my weekly column called 'Manic Makeovers' in which I helped most of the female audience out of the simplest or the weirdest fashion problems.

"Raspberry juice for the only morning person I know."

I looked up from my laptop to smile at Rodney's weary face. "Bless your heart," I said, taking the glass from his hand. "What would I ever do without you, Rod?"

"Exactly what you are doing with me, Monica. Nothing at all."

"Did you have your coffee yet?"

"I'm on my third cup."

"Go away before you set my workplace on fire."

"No promises, beautiful," he replied, leaning on my desk and slurping on his coffee. "But last night was totally worth it."

I hummed in response as I thought hard of a solution to Miss Tanned & Distressed's novel problem.

"So how was your weekend?"

"Glorious. Spent most of the time in bed; sick to the bone."

"Aw, you poor thing," he cooed, jutting out his bottom lip. "You could've called me. I mean, you were already hot with that temperature. I'd just help get things a little heavy and we'd be pretty set for the day." He winked suggestively. "If you know what I mean."

"And that is exactly why you've never crossed the residential parking lot. I cannot trust your intentions to be as sanitary as Dan's."

"Dan comes to you with pure intentions? Despite you being, well, you?"

I shrugged. "What can I say? He's a man with a lot of self-control." And a lot of self-preservation.

Before he could respond, Rod's face contorted with pain. "Fuck, I'm never drinking again."