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Authors: Katy Baron

Finding Mr. Right

BOOK: Finding Mr. Right
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Finding Mr. Right


Katy Baron



This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is entirely coincidental. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.


Copyright © 2011 by Katy Baron


er One

Dear Diary,

Gayle told me today that I act like a 17-year-old girl instead of a 27-year-old woman. She said no self-respecting adult has a crush on celebrities. I think she was annoyed at how much I was gushing about Bradley Cooper. But really, who wouldn’t gush? He is a perfect specimen of a man. It was when we were watching ‘The A-Team’ movie this evening that I realized that he is, perhaps, the best looking actor in Hollywood. And he quite possibly has the sexiest smile I’ve ever not seen in real life. I told Gayle that I think that he will be my new celebrity crush. I know Edward Norton has the brains to match the looks, but with my old age, beggars can’t be choosers and well, Edward just got engaged. And seeing as my chances with him are now slim to none, I decided it was now time for a more obtainable and single crush. Let’s add that I’m not a fan of the home-wrecker, and let’s be honest here, Edward was unlikely to leave his gorgeous fiancé for me anyway. Don’t worry, I’m not delusional or a stalker. Or at least I don’t think so. Gayle, my best friend for the last ten years, would beg to differ, though. I think she’s just jealous because I’m youthful and can still delight in daydreams that she gave up years ago. I didn’t even bother asking her if she wanted to go with me to see the new ‘Twilight’ movie tomorrow. She hadn’t seemed too impressed with the fact that I was willing to wait outside the movie theater for 48 hours to ensure I got a good seat last year.


I’ve created a list of all the things I want to accomplish within the next 3 years. It’s my “Before I Hit 30” list. I almost decided to give up while just writing the list. It had become so long and unachievable as I added one dream after another that I started to feel discouraged just writing it. However, I knew that if I could just accomplish at least one of the items on my list, I would be ecstatic. I would be jumping up and down on couches like Tom Cruise did on Oprah and singing like my head wasn’t good. Which it isn’t anyway, if you ask Gayle.

The list was actually quite simple, but I didn’t really know which number to start with. Logically and realistically, I knew that the ‘lose weight’ and ‘write a children’s book’ ones were items I could work on and control, but they didn’t excite me as much as ‘marry Bradley Cooper’ did. But as you can imagine, I had no idea how to get Bradley Cooper to marry me. In fact, I had no idea how to even meet Bradley Cooper, at least not without getting sent to jail for stalking.


My Hit it before 30 list

1. Marry Bradley Cooper in Hawaii.

2. Get married in Hawaii (It would be nice if he looked like Bradley Cooper).

3 Get married (male, good-looking, funny and nice will also do).

4. Write a set of children’s books and become as rich as J.K. Rowling (However, do not name the books the ‘Harry Potter Has Returned’ series).

5. Write a children’s book.

6. Become a supermodel and do a Victoria’s Secret catwalk show.

7. Lose enough weight to proudly walk around in Victoria’s Secret store-bought underwear.

8. Lose weight.


So basically what I really want is to get married, be skinny or skinnier than I am now, and become a world-famous children’s author. Well, a published author would do. Unfortunately, I couldn’t be any further away from all 3 of these things if I tried. I had no boyfriend, and certainly no Tiffany’s ring was going to be popping out of a little teal box while I was sitting on the beach under the stars anytime soon. I had about 30 pounds to go before anyone would ever say I was skinny, and 30 more pounds to go if I wanted to be considered to walk in any catwalk show. The children’s book was also not coming along very well; I had no agent, no publisher, and to be honest, no book. A single word had yet to be written, though I did have some amazing ideas. I just needed to start writing.


I, Maggie Lane, am an idiot. A first-class idiot. I mentioned to my best friend Gayle a few months ago that this was the year that I was going to get into shape, once and for all. She, of course, said all the right things that a best friend should say. “Oh, Maggie, you don’t need to lose weight!” and, “Why, Maggie, if you lost any more weight, you’d look like a stick.” Ok - I lied. Gayle didn’t say either of those things. She’s certainly not a politically-correct best friend, though that’s why I love her. What she actually told me was “Good for you, Maggie. Now you will finally be able to fit into those size 6 jeans that you bought 2 years ago.” Like I needed reminding about those jeans. They cost me $300. Don’t ask why I bought a pair of jeans for $300 in a size that was too small. I’d just started a ‘banana split diet’ and believed the “Lose 20 lbs in One Week!” advertisements that went along with it. Let’s just say that 20 pounds was a number to believe in, only they meant you gained it, not lost it. And I guess the extra 5 pounds on top of that were a free bonus for being a believer.

I guess I had gone on about losing weight too many times before, because it seemed as if Gayle wanted to make sure that this year, I actually stuck to my losing-weight dream. This morning, Gayle sent me an email asking if I could recommend some weight-loss tips for her coworker. I wasn’t sure if it was some sort of ‘call to action’ on her part, to somehow guilt me into losing weight because her coworker wanted to do it as well. Fat chance. I told her, “I’ve heard exercise and watching what you eat tend to work well, and that’s what I would recommend.” I thought my sarcasm would get her off of my back and didn’t expect her to email me back so promptly and so excitedly.

Turns out Gayle now considers herself a runner, though not for weight-loss purposes. She is a slender size 4 and has no fat to lose. Not an inch. Gayle is one of those I-need-to-be-healthy-so-I-can-live-till-I’m-100 types of people. And she has decided that running will help her get her heart healthier than it already is. Which I’m thinking is pretty healthy, seeing as she stays away from salt, red meat, fried foods, etc. You get my drift. She doesn’t enjoy food. Well, not like I do.

Had I realized that Gayle had picked up running, I wouldn’t have sent her back an email talking about the joys I had running in the park with my new running shoes and how the track at the gym and I are getting to be best friends. I wouldn’t have gone into great detail about how my dog, Lucy, loves the cool air in her face as she sniffs around and runs with her ears flapping. The sentences about Lucy alone should have given the whole email away. Gayle has met Lucy several hundred times, and she should know that running is not something Lucy cares for much. She is possibly the laziest dog to be in existence this side of the Equator. Sleeping and eating are her favorite pastimes. I refuse to believe she is a Labrador Retriever, as they always seem to be running and swimming in every TV show I see them in.

But alas, no. Gayle didn’t infer that I was jokingly boasting about my running schedule to get her off my back. She didn’t see behind my plan to block her in advance of her asking me to join her new super duper swanky gym again. My preemptive strike backfired on me. She actually believed me. I couldn’t for the life of me understand how or why when she saw my size 12 ass just last week, huffing and puffing as we walked from one night club to the next. But maybe that was her plan all along. She was going to pretend she believed me to shame me into actually doing it. She watches too many of those therapy-type shows on TV, and I’m sure she must have watched some sort of reverse-psychology episode where you pretend to believe that your friend/spouse/family member has given up something just so you can shame them into actually giving it up. How dare she try to outsmart me like that!

Those psychology talk shows must be on to something, though, because her evil plan worked. I am now signed up for a marathon with her in 6 months. As soon as she told me that, I started hyperventilating. I can’t even run a quarter of a mile. How do I get myself
these things? I suppose it could be quite helpful and might help get me into shape. I’ve been meaning to get into better shape for years now, but you know how life goes. There just never seems to be enough time for exercise and, well, all the healthy foods just don’t taste as good. It seems that one ill-fated email and lie have decided that this is the year that my life is going to change.


Dear Diary,

The thing I hate most about being overweight is the fact that I can never find cute dresses to wear. It seems to me that they always make dresses and tops from the ugliest materials they can find for the sizes 12 and above. The fashion industry is single-handedly trying to make women lose weight by giving them the most awful choices of clothes. I think they are in cahoots with the weight-loss industry, because unless you can sew or don’t care what you look like, you have to lose weight. That’s the only way to get cute clothes to wear. I think it is the worst form of discrimination. I’ve thought about suing one of the designing houses, but then decided against it. I mean, what would I wear to court? And honestly, I couldn’t afford to hire a lawyer to file a lawsuit. It is cheaper to just go and join the gym. Still, it does make me really mad.


The gym is full of perfect people who do not need to go the gym. This is the realization I had today and one I wish someone had told me about before I signed up. Is there some secret gym for fatties that I don’t know about, hidden in some back alley or something? Or is there a certain hour when we are meant to go and not completely lose our self-esteem?

I am feeling very tired after my first day at the gym. Okay, I didn’t actually work out tonight. Just filled out the paperwork and got myself a membership. It was bloody expensive, $150 signing fee and $50 a month. I nearly walked out then and there but felt like it would be too shameful. Because it’s not like I don’t need it, and the lady who signed me up, Perky Tina, really seemed excited to have me. Said I could join the new boot-camp classes. I didn’t know whether or not to be offended. Did I look like I needed to be beaten into shape? I didn’t actually ask her that though, as I already knew what the answer would be. I also didn’t bother telling her that there was no way on this green planet that I would be making it to the boot-camp classes. They start at 6 a.m. Six a.m.! Ha. I value my sleep as much as I value my daily white-chocolate mocha from Starbucks, and neither one of them will be leaving my life any time soon (well the Starbucks may have to, as my bank balance may no longer be able to afford that delicious treat).

I felt a little guilty leaving the gym after I got my membership. And embarrassed after Perky Tina rushed after me to explain that I could work out today. She let me know that there was no waiting period for the membership to go into effect. I told her it would have been great but I had only intended on signing up today and was planning on coming first thing in the morning. She looked at me a little strangely then, and I wondered if I had unknowingly let it slip that I wasn’t a morning person. It was only as I was getting into my car that I remembered I had on my gym gear! I changed before I came, with the intention of working out tonight. But really, who wants to work out after filling out all that paperwork? As I signed away liability for my life (hopefully I won’t have a heart attack while on the treadmill), I thought about getting some tacos from Chipotle on the way home. The store closest to me closes at 8 p.m., so I figured I would just skip working out tonight. I mean, I already crossed the biggest hurdle of my weight-loss journey when I signed up for a membership, right?

I also did some great brainstorming while I was waiting for Perky Tina to stop talking about all the equipment and classes they have available. I decided that not only was I going to write a children’s book, I would do some illustrations as well. I had some brilliant ideas about images I would like to see in the book. I went to Michael’s right after Chipotle and got some new coloring pencils, to see if I could create the images I saw in my mind. I was really excited because once I got the book finished, I would see if I could get an agent or a publisher interested. And then, well, then maybe I could accomplish my dream of being an author, like Judy Blume or Paula Danziger or even J.K. Rowling. But I decided pretty quickly, after a few sketches, that perhaps my children’s book shouldn’t have any pictures. I can’t draw anything but stick men and have no money to sign up for an art class now that I’ve joined the gym.


Color me embarrassed. Today was a bit of a disaster. Gayle must have watched another therapy show because she is stepping up the intensity and frequency of her emails. Her first email this morning contained a countdown of large flashing numbers, and I almost jumped out of my chair when the accompanying music started to play. “159 days to go until the race, 159 days to go until the race,” the screen shouted at me. It made me feel guilty, a bit nervous, and extremely scared. I need to get on the running thing quickly. Otherwise, Gayle is going to kick my ass, and I am going to look like a fool on marathon day. I guess the countdown worked at actually getting me into action because I decided that I would go to the gym right after work. I even skipped happy hour with Jim (the computer guru), Ben (my office love), and Lola (queen of the know-it-alls).

I was pretty excited to get to the gym. They have a sauna there, so I was thinking that I could run a little on the treadmill, ok walk, and then go relax in the sauna for a bit. I’d even downloaded some new songs to my iPod and was pretty excited about having a chance to listen to some music uninterrupted. The new Rihanna song I had downloaded had me pumped up to work out, and I walked into the gym feeling pretty jazzed up. My feeling of contentment only rose when I saw all the hot guys working out.

At first, I didn’t even notice that everyone in there was perfect except me. I was so mesmerized by how many good-looking men were there. I’m talking about bodies that are usually only seen in action movies, with faces to match. I’d never seen such perfection in so many men who weren’t on TV screens, and well, it definitely put an added pep in my step. I was walking to the treadmills when it happened. This guy, who looked like a young George Clooney (yes, I will go on a date with you right now if you ask me to, kind sir), smiled at me, and winked. I was thinking to myself, “Wow, my new, slightly too-tight gym pants and white t-shirt (that’s so thin that you can see my hot-pink sports bra clearly through it) were worth the buy.” So, I did what any slightly shy but excited girl in her late 20’s would do. Well, at least what I think they would also do. I gave him, GC’s twin, a big smile and winked my left eye back at him. Next thing I know, this cute petite blonde goes running up to him and gives him a kiss on the cheek and starts talking animatedly. I didn’t stick around to find out what the conversation was about. But the pep in my step had decidedly less bounce after that.

I should have just gone to the sauna after that incident. I could have let the hot air sweat away my embarrassment, but no, I don’t always think rationally. I decided to keep my head high, and with my cheeks burning a deep red, I hurried over to the nearest machine, which was a treadmill, and jumped on. It was then that I noticed that not only were all the guys super hot, but so were the girls. Every single one of them. I felt like I was Daffy Duck in
Ocean’s Eleven
, completely out of my natural environment. To make matters worse, GC’s twin and the blonde were laughing over something pretty loudly, and I could only think that, of course, it was about me and my stupid wink.

Being the smart person that I am, I made things even worse. I, of course, did the stupidest thing that I could have done. I started running. On the treadmill. At 11 MPH. Me, who could barely keep up with the walk at 3 MPH. And within 10 seconds, I was flying off the treadmill and sitting on my ass. My slightly big, and to some just plain fat, ass. Not embarrassing at all. My too-tight pants were happily displaying my stomach, which seemed to proudly bulge out, while my t-shirt played the peek-a-boo game with my bellybutton. And then to make matters worse, the best-looking guy in the whole gym of already gorgeous guys comes by to help me up. And I just sit there on the floor and stare at him, because his face looks slightly familiar and I am trying to place him from a movie or TV show. And I just sit there staring for what seems like hours but was likely just a minute. And while that may not sound like a long time, it really is very long. Count it. Measure a minute. See! Imagine staring at someone for a whole minute. And then imagine that someone is a gorgeous man, standing in front of you, with this hand stretched out to help you up, and you are just sitting there staring at him, with your heart beating loudly. A whole minute. No, that wasn’t embarrassing at all.

I’ve decided that I’m not going back to that gym again. Never again. So what if I just paid $200 for a membership that came out of my savings account, which now has a balance of $33.60? I am not going to put myself through that embarrassment again. And so what if I have to deal with Gayle spewing all sorts of TV-induced therapy at me. And so what if I go and run the marathon and can only manage running for 1 minute before I run out of breath and stop? I can always pretend to have a panic attack or something.

Okay, so maybe I will go back. Just one more time. I say that not only because I am scared of what Gayle will do to me if she finds out I quit the gym, but also because the gorgeous guy at the gym who helped me up after my fall gave me his business card as I hurried out of there doing the walk of shame. ‘Walk of shame’ because I promptly grabbed my gym bag and left right after that incident. I spent approximately 3 minutes working out in the gym today. I suppose that’s a step up over yesterday when I spent 0. I don’t quite understand why the guy gave me his card. It just has his name and number, no other information to give me a clue as to what his profession is, but I suppose maybe he’s a personal trainer and feels bad for me.

He most likely sees me as an easy way to make more money each month. I mean, it had to be obvious that I had no clue what I was doing, and that I am dreadfully out of shape. I don’t know if I am going to call him, though. I’ll have to sleep on it. I wonder if his voice is as hot as his body. Plus, I don’t know what I would say if I called. I mean, “Is Blake there? This is the fat girl who made a fool of herself at the gym…” doesn’t sound too brilliant and neither does “Hi, Blake, it’s me, your fat Cinderella, calling to make all your dreams come true.” Perhaps I just won’t call at all.

BOOK: Finding Mr. Right
3.16Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

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