THE HARLITA HAT TRICK or The Quest for the Ultimate Poutine *** “Whatcha doin’?” “Makin’ poutine.” I giggled and smooched Tina’s precious little nose when she screwed her face up in disgust. It was just the thing I needed after ten minutes in the kitchen with nothing to show for it. Would be a great shame on me as the chef of the family, but I’ll bet you fifty bucks even Gordon Ramsey wouldn’t toss me out if he knew what some nut had just ordered. Fries? Sweet. Love ‘em, especially when they’re all crispy. Gravy? I mean...you can put it on mashed potatoes, and fries are basically sliced potatoes cooked in oil, so it makes sense. Doesn’t make it good. Cheese curds? Your culinary experiment is officially a Frankenstein monster, and honey? I’m Monica effin’ Harlita. If there’s one thing I’ve got a knack for, it’s experimenting in life and love. I make it my goal to bed and befriend any and all genders and orientations. I aspire to new reaches of pleasure that sometimes border on S&M!
“Tera wants me to what?” Yeah, about what I expected when I finally got around to telling him. “I know, I know,” I said. “But look! She’s got blueprints for it and everything!” “Tina, that’s not the point...” “What, you can’t do it?” Just calling his bluff. I knew he could do it. He built a watch that can generate a motorcycle AND an actual freakin’ proton pack (which I still had to change hiding spots for every time he asked about it ‘cause Little Miss can’t have nice things). If anyone could do it, it was my big brother Lance. “I can do it,” he said and looked over the scraps I’d pushed into his hands. “I just...I mean, what is it with them and pillows?” “Running gag, I guess?” “A running gag that’s gone a little too far, I’d say. Look at this.” I’d looked at it more times than I could count. I’d already seen the room Auntie Tera rented out for it, and everything seemed perfectly legit. I mean...yeah, it looked like one of those rooms