Blue Ships Publishing

“Oh, my God,” Reba said. “My poor stomach. I should not have eaten all that mustard.” She sat on the bench, suffering. And well she should. What kind of moron eats a whole bottle of Dijon, even for a bet?

“I hope that $200 is going to be worth the time you’re going to spend in the bathroom,” Carla said.

Reba shook her head. “It won’t be. I can already see it. …Smell it.”

Everyone else sat around her, laughing, eating their hotdogs and burgers…with normal amounts of mustard.

“Welp,” Carla said. “Drink lots of water. You are going to need it.”

Time came to clean up. She was still passed out on the table, moaning and whining. “I’d pay $200 to go back in time and NOT have taken that bet,” she said. At which point, Marco set the money down in front of her, riddled with swear words and dirty drawings.

“There you go. Enjoy spending that.” He chuckled.

“Marco,” Carla said. “What’s going to stop her from depositing that into her bank at an ATM? Then your whole plot to embarrass her is foiled.”

He gave her a look. “See, this is why we don’t invite you to things. You’re a buster.”