Happily Ever Madder: Misadventures of a Mad Fat Girl by Stephanie McAfee

By Stephanie McAfee

Diary of a Mad fats Girl's plus-sized spitfire Graciela "Ace" Jones returns in a hilarious new event from New York Times bestselling writer Stephanie McAfee.

Ace has left the tiny Mississippi city of Bugtussle for the palm fronds and mojitos of Pelican Cove, Florida. She's ultimately beginning her long-dreamed-of artwork gallery, is kick-starting a existence along with her fiancé, Mason, and has vowed to depart her straight-talking, sassy methods in the back of her. any further, she's going to be as candy as sugar. regrettably, anything comes alongside to bitter her plans.

That anything is Mrs. Lenore Kennashaw and her coterie of crones. They're a number of snippy, snarky, and simply undeniable suggest 'ol women who aren't particularly as shrewdpermanent or wealthy as they'd prefer to imagine they're. yet that doesn't cease them from treating each person else like second-class electorate. And while Ace inadvertently takes a few of the steam from Mrs. Kennashaw's stride, she turns into their no 1 enemy. yet with the...

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And what would they all say if word leaked out that she's in the habit of talking to her clothing? Jung talked to his pots and pans-so what? She rode a high wave, turned, and looked at the horizon. How could Jackson have drowned, the fool? He never trusted a soul. Then he drowned. She turned to look back to shore. In the failing light, the kimono seemed to be Ariadne. Ospreys circled overhead, screeching, disrupting, the way the gulls had the day Jack drowned. A wave hit from behind, tumbling her into the shoals.

Avenged over and out. " 45 KAYE \VAYFARING IN "AVENGED" WHERE was Till now? Making up herself, in another room, to go on. In the back yard of the star's mind the summer-evening festivities in Clayton progressed. ) There she was, spotlighted in the tree house, costumed in parachute silk, enacting the wayward Guinevere. There lingered Jackson Bridgewood Wayfaring the Fourth, in the scuppernong arbor. THE ovEN timer sounded. She'd slept on it, all of it, and here she was. " Ten minutes! My hair, my nails, my face!

She felt a jolt and cried out. The others shouted back to reassure her. The Phaeton had landed. As it taxied along, Illyria welcomed them. "THAT was a month ago," Kaye said out loud. I pray you, tell me if this be the lady of the house, for I never saw her: I would be loath to cast away my speech; for, besides that it is excellently well penned, I have taken great pains to con it. " THEY had passed through the small country airport's white clapboard terminal and, led by Orphrey Whither, headed along the gravel path toward a row of stately elms shading the entrance gate.

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