Chapter 10 Lottie #3
“Beneficial?” a woman shrieks. “I look like I’ve been mud wrestling with a hippie!”
It’s true. The tea seems to be soaked into the dirt on the ground, and for some reason, it’s created a splash zone of muddy proportions.
“Now, now.” Carlotta’s voice booms once again, and I cringe because of it. “Mud wrestling builds character! Plus, you’re getting a free exfoliation treatment. Do you know how much fancy spas charge for mud wraps?”
“This isn’t a spa!” the woman protests. “And this mess is all over my white linen pants!”
“Think of it as tie-dye with health benefits,” Carlotta explains cheerfully. “You’re pioneering a whole new fashion trend—wellness couture!”
Bunny tries to regain control. “Perhaps if we just blot gently with some clean towels—”
“Blotting is for amateurs!” Carlotta announces.
“I’m implementing the full-coverage approach.
” She scoops up a few handfuls of mud off the ground and raises her fists like the muddy threats they are.
“If we get everyone’s clothes the same poopy hue, then it becomes a group aesthetic choice instead of a laundry disaster! ”
She does have a point, right before doing a little old-fashioned mudslinging.
Oh, good grief. How has she not been arrested by now? Or murdered. Mostly murdered. By yours truly.
“Stop attacking me with that terrible tea!” someone pleads as the sound of splashing echoes through the tent.
“I’m not attacking, I’m revolutionizing,” Carlotta shoots back. “This is better than any coffee scrub I’ve ever used, and I once paid fifty dollars to have someone rub espresso grounds on my thighs and call it cellulite therapy. I’m still lumpy and bumpy in case you were wondering.”
I can attest to that.
“That’s completely different!” another voice wails.
“Enough, ladies.” Bunny’s voice grows increasingly strained. “If everyone could please just stand still—”
“Standing still is for quitters!” Carlotta declares. “Embrace the chaos! This is what true wellness looks like—messy, unpredictable, and slightly embarrassing!”
That’s basically Carlotta’s version of live, love, laugh.
Bunny cups her hands over her mouth. “Attention, ladies! Let’s begin the lecture on the benefits of castor oil!”
“Don’t worry, Funny Bunny,” Carlotta shouts her way.
“I’ll help you out.” She trots over to a table where the castor oil is displayed and promptly picks up an armful of the dark blue bottles, and I’m pretty sure she doesn’t realize each of those bottles is uncapped.
That was the sample table where women were testing out the slippery substance and rubbing it over their arms and faces.
But before I can warn her of the impending danger, in typical Carlotta fashion, she trips, falls, and inadvertently bathes herself in the oily goo.
Bunny’s face goes pale. “Oh, for goodness’ sake—”
I nod because that’s usually my standard reaction.
Carlotta tries to grab ahold of the dark bottles, and yet they one by one seem to squirm right out of her hands, and soon she’s juggling them while pouring the castor oil over herself with the enthusiasm of someone performing the slipperiest baptism on record.
The oil splashes onto nearby attendees, who shriek and slip as the vicinity becomes an impromptu skating rink.
Oil splashes everywhere. Women shriek. The tent grounds turn into a full-contact slip-and-slide. Someone loses a shoe. Someone else loses their dignity. A purse skids past me at forty miles an hour. Complete chaos erupts as bottles topple everywhere, and the scent of lavender mingles with panic.
“Your so-called friend has turned a wellness seminar into a full-contact sport,” Lenny comments with a touch of admiration.
I waddle over and try to wrangle Carlotta while nursing twins, which is about as effective as trying to herd cats while juggling flaming torches. “Carlotta! Stop helping!” I turn to Bunny. “I’m so sorry about this.”
“Don’t apologize,” Bunny says, actually smiling. “This is the most excitement we’ve had at a wellness seminar in years.”
She slips her business card into my purse. “Please call me if you want to continue our conversation. And seriously, think about those monk fruit desserts. The world needs more bakers who care about both taste and health.”
“I will,” I promise, while watching Carlotta attempt to help someone up and instead causing a three-person pile-up.
“Well, this is more exciting than my days at the zoo,” Lenny grunts as he prepares to follow me out of the increasingly slippery tent. “At least now you know where to start looking for answers.”
I need much more than a few answers right about now.
I gather the oil-covered mess known as Carlotta and go in search of Lyla Nell and my mother, who are probably wondering if I’ve been swallowed whole by the wellness community chaos.
We make our escape from the increasingly slippery tent, though I make a mental note to verify that cruise alibi as soon as I’m not juggling twins on my boobs, managing a human oil spill, and trying to locate the rest of my family—assuming Carlotta’s next wellness demonstration doesn’t turn deadly first.
And knowing our track record, there’s a very good chance of just that.