Susan Reinhardt - Don’t Sleep with a Bubba: Unless Your Eggs are in Wheelchairs

Career Day Including a Skull in a Stomach

Nothing would be possible without the help and love of friends and family, as well as my talented agent, Ethan Ellen-berg, and the fantastic staff at Kensington.

Id also like to thank all the writers who supported my work, generously offering to read the manuscript, as well as friends and family who served as early readers.

Special thanks to the Read It or Not: Here We Come Book Club, and all the humor the women in the club provide.

As always, my beloved children bring me the gifts of love, expansion of heart, world, and mind. Nothing is possible without them.

For the record, I once loved a Bubba. A man whose real name I dont know to this day. He was charming, handsome, funny, and had great teeth and a laugh that still rings in my ears and heart. He did not fit the stereotypical Southern-boy Bubba who awakens drunk, terrorizes cats, gets mean on liquor, chews, 4ts, totes a gun and drives a Ford F-150.

Well, he did have a truck. But thats about all.

When I say, Dont sleep with a Bubba. Im referring to men who are bumpkins with bad attitudes. Its nothing against the name, which Mama says is a nickname for brother.

But we all know that Bubbas, while they can fix things and drink a case of rotgut beer without throwing up, just arentwellmarriage material.

And if you sleep with one, and hes good (if sober, chances are he will be), you may get all mixed up emotionally, as women are prone to do, and actually think you love him and end up marrying him.

As for all of you whove married Bubbas and are happy, Im delighted.

Maybe if my own Bubba hadnt dumped me after the first date, the book would have a different title. Then again, maybe not.

In the words of my wise neighbor, whos African American and a doctor at the Veterans Administration Medical Center, Bubbas need love, too.

V irginia is for Loversand fools like me.

My very first national book came out a couple of springs back, and I was to fly to Richmond, Virginia, to promote it, staying at the ultrafancy Jefferson Hotel, a five-star place nothing like the Econo Lodges I have always found pleasant enough or the Motel 6 where Im almost certain my son was conceived, bless his heart.

Days prior to my departure, I read up on how to give the perfect book signing. When youre new at this type of thing, you want to make sure everythings perfect. This is your chance, your one shot at the big leagues, and if the author of How to Climb the Bestseller Ladder: The Secret Is Grooming and Hygiene tells you to chew 60 Tic Tacs before opening your mouth, well then, youd better damn well do it. If they say body odor will send potential customers flying out the doors, then, by God, you wear out a stick of Secret Solid. Whatever you do, the author warns in giant letters: DONT BURP OR FART. Well, okay, she says, DONT ALLOW BODILY EMISSIONS TO HAVE FREE REIN.

I had a friend who swears on a stack of Bibles she was at her favorite authors signing and the writer continued, quite unabashedly, to fart herself into a cloud of sulfur, sending customers fleeing for the door.

For this first book-signing adventure, I packed two sticks of deodorant, half a dozen boxes of Altoids, those curiously strong mints that could kill small animals, and lots of perfumes and lotions. I was going to smell so good, for heavens sake, that everyone would want my book.

First, though, I had to prepare mentally, remembering the few grouchy-faced people during my public talks over the years, to discuss life as a columnist. I also knew that a tour in various cities, which included air travel or being in the car with Mama, would require medication or elseWell, itd be ER time. I would hit the floor, crack open my skull and never again write another book.

I rushed to the doctor, in need of something to calm my nerves. They can be so mean, a few of them, I explained as I beseeched the old doc wearing his white coat and stern expression. The rest are wonderful. You know how it is giving speeches. You try to pretend theyre naked and then you wonder how big their willies are and all of a sudden youre getting hot in the face and the old heart does the long jump from its anchored position and death is imminent. Its not easy, so please help me.

He exhaled with that Oh, no, not another premenopausal, crazy-ass woman, kind of sigh.

Have you tried therapy?

Im 40-some-odd years old, Doctor. Dont you think Ive been in therapy before? Listen, Ive got to go on about sixty radio shows in one month because publishers dont have the money to put unknown authors up in fancy hotels but once or twice or pay for national tours. I have to talk live on the air. I have to drive and deliver funny speeches even when I have PMS and Mama wants to come along. You dont understand. She hoops and yells and bangs on the dashboard, thinking my every vehicular move is going to end in death.

He raised his brows and clicked on his computer. I liked it better when docs didnt have computers. I knew what he was typing: neurotic woman in need of behavioral therapy .

What are you wanting? he asked, smirking.

Drugs, I said. Nerve pills. I have awella heart condition. Just ask the Rotarians. I once passed out and

Heart condition, you say?

Click, click, clickety-clack. Im sure he typed in, Woman is probably wanting Percocet and making all this book shit up. Maybe shes going to cook up some meth in her doublewide. Note to self: do a police background check.

Have you tried any of the antidepressants? he asked.

All of them.

Peck, peck, tappety-tap. Woman is candidate for thirty to ninety days in the ward.

Look, I wanted to be a writer so I wouldnt have to face the public. In my job, you just sit down, eat a bunch of junk food and type. You dont have to be witty or answer fastballs those morning hosts hurl. You wouldnt believe what happened on this one show that goes to 450 stations across the country.

He attempted a strained grin and squirted antibacterial foam on his hands. I guess he thought I might not only be crazy but infected with tetanus, too.

Im on the air, and its like, 4 AM Eastern time, and this woman gets on with me and starts talking aboutaboutPlease, Dr. Popper (yes, his real name, poor man), I need some medicine. Im having palpitations. I cant do this. You dont understand. I passed out once talking to the Lions or Rotarians, I forget which, maybe both, and had to lie down like a dead bug.

Tap, tap, tappety-tap. Refer woman to mental health facility ASAP.

He quit typing and faced me with eyes the color of nails. What happened on the radio?

I decided to go ahead and tell him so I could get medicine in case of future shocks that could cause a gals heart to go into a series of preventricular contractions Oprah says could very well be caused from hormones and perimenopause. You gotta believe Oprah.

Well, I had all my notes spread out on the bed. See, you can do most radio interviews in your pajamas and have bad breath and no one knows, which is great. You dont even have to brush your hair or teeth. But this woman, shesheWell, she decided to ask what I thought about the latest in plastic surgery.