Who Makes Up These Rules, Anyway?
My name is Teddi Bayer. Not as bad as, say, Candi Kane, but still...
No biggie, you think? Then picture this: a newspaper ad for Bayer Furniture the Sunday after I was born. There I am, naked except for a big bow around my neck, superimposed on a bed of teddy bears. Below me are the words IN CELEBRATION OF THE BIRTH OF OUR LITTLE TEDDI, BUY A COUCH THIS WEEK AND GET A FREE TEDDY BEAR! BETTER STILL, BUY A BED
AND MAKE ONE OF YOUR OWN!
Fast forward twelve years and imagine a raucous bunch of adolescent boys trying to cop a feel of my mosquito-bite-breasts to see if I'm "stuffed."
And my parents expected me to turn out normal? Somehow, despite my name and my genes, for thirty-six years I've managed to defy the odds. That is, until today, when, to show that they are team players and can embrace a common goal, my entire family — and that includes my too-good-looking-for-his-own -good husband, Rio — came together to make sure that I go smack, stark-raving, way-over-the-edge mad.
You think I'm exaggerating, right? Well then, let's take them one by one, shall we? First there's my mother, ... read full excerpt from: Who Makes Up These Rules, Anyway? ebook
