“It’s Britney, bitch,” I say as I rub my ruby red lips together.
My group of twenty ladies squeals in the Infiniti QX56 limo, telling me that if I put on a blonde wig, I could pass for the famed Britney.
I roll my eyes as flashes of hot pink, blue, and purple lights obscure my vision. Please, I’m prettier than Britney Spears. She wishes she was me.
But I let the comment slide as I sip on my cosmopolitan with a twist, the glass sparkling with each flicker of light. Britney Spears’ music mix pounds loudly in the surround sound.
My Donatella Versace club dress was a great choice, though the pink flashing lights are currently altering the brilliant red into more of a fuchsia.
I am not sure how I feel about this, never having been a pink kind of woman. Pink is a weak color, and red is a power color. I jerk up—without spilling my drink, miraculously—and press the intercom button.
“Malcolm, you know I hate pink,” I yell into the speaker, trying not to slur. “Cut the pink lights, damn it!”
He should know better.
Within seconds the pink lights are nonexistent, making me lean back in my plush seat with a cat’s grin. “Much better, bitch,” I yell, then laugh, taking another generous sip.
I will point out that my Skinny Girl cosmo is candy-apple red tonight. Why? Because I’m Big Red, that’s why. My vision blurs for a second, then rights itself, making me produce a throaty laugh.
“Whooo!” I place my hand to my lips from a random dizzy spell—~DON’T VOMIT~.
My girls go crazy, tossing their hair around and grinding on each other.
I will own Las Vegas tonight.
The Palms Casino Resort is holding a giant birthday bash for me, in my honor, for all my selfless donations.
It’s good to give back to the little people occasionally, and it seems to mean a lot to them. It’s whatever. I will have to ask my assistants which foundations they donated to.
We arrive at the grand entrance and I fix my short, glittering dress. It rides up, showing a bit of my ass—would hate to have that picture all over the internet.
Even though I’m wearing super cute undies, just saying.
As soon as my red stiletto hits the ground, flashing lights blind me. My long legs are tone, perfectly tan, and are looking killer tonight.
I’m Jessica Rabbit, bitch—not Britney.
I grin as I runway-walk with my squad behind me. This scene should be shot in slow motion. It's so perfect. My golden, fire-colored hair flows down my back like a slow current of lava.
I always point that out, because it’s so rare nowadays. Bitches always try to duplicate it and can never match my Scottish red hues. I’m a MacLeoir, fantastic genetics.
I think for a second. I should make everyone take a shot tonight every time I say bitch. That would be hilarious.
I tend to say that a lot when I drink.
I am greeted like a queen and led to VIP, feeling everyone’s awestruck stares. I am 5′9” of total hotness. I could have been a supermodel if I wanted to be, having insanely long legs.
My breasts are large and perky, and believe it or not, I underwent breast reduction surgery. Anything over D-cup is, in my expert opinion, too much.
This party is insanity.
Shots are pouring down my throat, and I’m dancing, flipping hair, hot men everywhere. The D.J. is screaming into the microphone, that is my birthday, and everyone shrieks, lights flickering from the strobe.
I am laughing, stumbling my way to the bathroom, when I shoulder check some guy. “Excuse you!”
The man turns around, and I pause—even in my drunken state, I can tell this man is handsome. His blonde hair is styled perfectly, and his pinstriped suit is flawless. He smiles at me.
What’s his deal?
“Excuse me? Do I know you?” I slur just a bit, leaning towards him. He smells like Old Spice, strange.
He grabs my hand and pats it. “Happy birthday, Crystal!” he yells over the music.
“So, do we know each other?” I ask, trying to place him in my foggy memory.
“I have a birthday present for you, a once in a lifetime experience!” he yells with a dashing smile.
I. LOVE. SURPRISES.
“Did my girlfriends put you up to this?!” I laugh. “Yes, show me!”
I hoot and holler as he leads me away from the loud swarm of people. My vision swims just a bit, so I must hold onto his arm.
“Let’s go to another lounge that is not so loud,” he hollers.
I hold up my hand. “A public place. I am not an idiot.”
We make it to a quiet seating area in a nearby lounge, and I think I can hear my ears ringing. “So, what’s t-this surprise?” I ask, squinting my eyes to see him better.
He looks like Prince Charming.
I snort some laughs.
He chuckles at me, his blue eyes studying me. “You will be perfect for this.” He takes out a glowing letter, making me gasp.
“What is that?!”
“For what?” I can feel my eyes bulging. This is amazing. “Holy shit, it’s glowing.” I lean in close to see it more clearly. Am I hallucinating?
“A once-in-a-lifetime adventure,” he says carefully.
I squeal. “I’m in!”
The man’s eyes widen. “You’re in? Once you sign the contract, there is no going back. Do you even want to know the details?”
I laugh hysterically. “This is great, where do I sign? Was this Peggy’s idea?” I point at him with a sly grin. “It was, wasn’t it.”
“Riiiiight.” I wink at him multiple times. “This is soooo her. I hope it’s a safari trip,” my mind spins, “or, like—”
“Do you want to know what the trip is? It’s a little different than a...safari.” He is eyeing me with a raised brow.
“No.” I wave at him, feeling a burp coming that I cover with my hand. “Give me the pen. I’m starting to get a damn headache, and I need another drink.”
He laughs, handing me a pen. “You will be perfect for this, though you might disagree later.”
“I know, right?” I laugh with him.
I sign it and high five him, though I miss the first time.
This is going to be so much fun.
I get my phone out to text Peggy that she is a hooker, and thanks for the present.
It’s Big Red, bitch!
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