Page 4 of Married in Michigan

“Haha. Yes, Paxton deBraun is an ass, and no, I don’t want to know how hung he is.”

I swallow hard to keep from laughing somewhat hysterically at that. “Um, no. I mean, there’s a literal, actual, real-life donkey in the living room, and a literal, actual, real-life snake in the tub.”

“Shit. For real?” At that moment, the donkey lets out a deafeningHEE-HEE-HAW-HAW-HAWWW. Rick cackles abruptly. “Holy mother of shit. That was a donkey.”

“Told you.”

“And a snake, you say?”

“A big, giant-ass snake. It was all coiled up in the tub so I couldn’t guess at a length, but what I could see was thick as my thigh. So unless you know how to handle donkeys and snakes, call animal control.”

“Yeah, I’m on it.”

I pause. “Is there an animal control for naked hookers?” I ask.

Rick snickers on the other end. “I volunteer my services.”

“Judging by the number of used condoms I’m gonna have to clean up, I’m guessing they’ve been very well…serviced.”

“Yeah, well…still my services are still available. Assuming they ain’t ugly, and being that deBraun hired 'em, I’m guessing they ain’t.”

I sigh. “Men.”

He laughs. “Just remember, we’re all the same, deep down. When you think you’ve found Prince Charming? Just remember he’s still a dude.”

My turn to cackle. “Yeah, right—I’ve come to the conclusion that Prince Charming has never existed, and never will.”

“Listen, I got a bathroom with a leaky faucet to fix, and now animal control to call.”

“Over and out,” I say.

Another laugh. “Exactly. Try not to need me for anything else, yeah?”

“I’d love nothing more.”

That conversation over, I go back to the mess in the kitchen, and it takes me more than two hours just to bag up all the trash, at which point the foyer is filled with piles of bulging contractor-grade garbage bags. And that’s just the kitchen. Another hour to collect the trash elsewhere—I don’t exactly tiptoe in the guest rooms, but the naked occupants are clearly down for the count and don’t stir.

I turn the walkie to the housekeeping channel. “Tanya? This is Makayla. I need some…directions.”

After a minute, the walkie crackles. “Channel nine.”

I change to the correct channel. “Tanya?”

“What’s up?”

“What do I do about the beds?”

“Change them?” Tanya answers, somewhat testily.

“There are people in them. Several people per bed, passed out.”

“Oh.” A hesitation. “I guess do everything but the beds, and hope they wake up and leave before your shift is over.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

I huff, annoyed, and go back to cleaning—wipe down the counters and cabinets, scrub the sink to gleaming, empty out the refrigerator, clean it, and replace the items; sweep and mop the kitchen floor; vacuum the area I’ve cleaned. Animal control still hasn’t shown up, so the donkey is still here, which makes trying to clean the living room pointless. Argh. Bedrooms, then. I can clean the bathrooms and vacuum the floors, just not make the bed, and I’m not touching the tub with the snake in it.

The first bedroom, then. Ugh, so many naked people—penises, butts, and boobs galore. Condoms everywhere, used and unused. I put a third pair of rubber gloves on, and start picking up. Throw out no less than eight used condoms and their attendant ripped-open wrappers, shove the strings of unused condoms in the box and set the box on the nightstand, trying to keep my eyes on my work rather than the two dicks and eight sets of silicone tits immediately to my left.