Single Player: Humor, Love, Breast Cancer and a Gaming Girl... by Jamie Nicole Page B

in at the end to help I wouldn’t turn them down, but that’s it. Is friendship too cheesy?” I see why Connor loves her, because it’s obvious he does, and I can also see that she’s brought the smile to his face that I hadn’t realized had been missing for so long until now. I want that for him. I want that for me, and because of the smile wanting, I’m compelled to agree to her cheesy terms.
    “So, friendship and art and money? Those are your demands?” She’s looking at me hopeful. “Okay. I’m in. I’d like to split all the expenses fifty-fifty though and make this a real partnership with all the same risks. I love lingerie that much.” She reaches her thin, pale hand across to me and we shake on the friendship-art-money pact that I suggested and then surprisingly, for the first time in a long while, I feel… hopeful.
    ***
     
    I’m dying to tell Ashton about my new business venture, but I know his schedule and tonight he’s got a gig which means I won’t be seeing him until the wee hours of the night/morning. Since there’s no rush, I open my email to check out what new work I’ve had come in, and then I check my excel timetables to see where I am on the several outstanding projects I still have going. Then it’s time to get to work on what’s currently due. 
    My inheritance is nice to have as a back-up in case I fall on hard times, but I plan on using some of that to invest in the lingerie business with Liddy. My bank account is kind of like a security blanket, so if I plan on spending money, I need to make money. Otherwise, I may be forced to depend on someone else one day and that is not in any one of my future plans.
    It’s been several days since I’ve checked my email so it’s heavily congested with junk-mail, spam, and requests to join all sorts of social media groups. I spend what feels like hours sifting through all the garbage before I get to a subject line that reads: “ PLEASE OPEN, it’s your mother, ” again. You’d think I’d panic reading that, but I’m no stu-nod. I’ve had enough of these emails over the years to know a scam when I see one.  I delete it from my inbox like I always have and continue on with my schedule for the evening as planned.
    Oddly enough, one of the books I’m ghost writing a chapter for is about anxiety disorder. The book’s working title is, and I promise you I’m not kidding, The Game of Life:  How to Stop Beating Yourself and Become a Winner .  BWAHAHAHAHA! It’s a ridiculous title. Every time I say it aloud or even think it in my mind, I have to use a news reporter’s tone and give a big, cheesy thumbs up at the end, it’s that corny and, P.S., a complete waste of time.
    After finishing my designated chapter on Cognitive Behavioral Therapy Techniques I’m mentally drained.  While researching I came across an article that talked about something called Trauma-Based Cognitive Behavioral Therapy. In the research, the doctor talked about children who have lost a parent or who have journeyed through a significant illness with their loved one and how often the child experiences PTSD (post traumatic stress disorder) and if not treated can lead to a difficulty adjusting to normal life. If I could meet this genius I’d say, “DUH!”
    All I want to do after my thought-provoking research is to escape for a while, thus applying my go-to behavioral therapy technique of choice: avoidance. Apparently this technique is frowned upon by “the doctors” of the world.  They all seem to agree that dealing head-on with your issues is the “best way,” but to each his own is my go-to philosophy. So, in true PrettyPanties fashion I go to my room, doll up and prepare to kick some pansy ass online.  I find black cat-eye makeup is the most effective in reinforcing my butt-kicking mood. I wish I could explain why but, it just does.
    Lying across my purple duvet are my gorgeous new handmade undergarments from Liddy. Since “the girls” are still young