My fabulous friend and editor is looking hot these days. Really hot. Turns out, her husband Tim has been kicking her ass into supermodel status. So at Eve's recent birthday party, I begged Tim to make me his guinnea pig and turn me into a fox. Then, I could, you know, write about how gorgeous I'm getting and you'd all be desperate for Tim to train you.
So this Thursday's the day and I'm starting to get scared.
I get the impression that Tim doesn't fuck around.
I mean, the man just ended an e-mail with the worrisome, "You can't get out of it now!"
Shit. He already knows all of my grandparents are dead. I can't pull the old "family tragedy" excuse. I think I may have to actually suck it up and do this.
But I'm reminding myself that Tim is an incredibly nice guy who gives very good dating advice, looks just like Harold from Top Chef and is still married to the last person he trained.
So he probably won't actually kill me. Probably...