Warning: Reading Lucky Number Six may cause uncontrolled bursts of laughter, spewing drink out of the reader’s nose, belief in snarky carnivorous unicorns and the need to visit New Orleans during Mardi Gras.
In New Orleans something with a weird sense of humor is stranding mythical creatures in Dr. Tiffany Crews’s courtyard.
Renowned psychiatrist, klutz, and Arkansas hillbilly with her feet firmly rooted in reality, Tiffany isn’t quite ready for a one hundred twenty pound fairy godmother sporting dragonfly wings, nor a unicorn to come waltzing into her life. Especially when the unicorn starts talking and farting rainbows and her new fairy godmother insists she’s been sent because happily-single Tiffany made a wish to find her one true love.
Every attempt for Tiffany and her roommate and friends to shove these mythical charges back to the place where they belong ends in hijinks and compromising situations. Never one to give up on a tricky problem, nor her grip on sanity, Tiffany decides she needs to fit the two myths into reality and Mardi Gras is just the time to start.
But if only it was that easy.
Lucky Number Six was downloaded 16,000+ times from June 2013 - March 2014. I haven't marketed recently, although there have been a few sales and "borrows" due to Unlucky Number Four's release in October.
In the back of her mind, Tiffany was very happy the family couldn’t see her current predicament. Running in the new three inch heel Manolo Blahniks, after a stupid duck. A hunk of her brunette hair fell from its customary French braid and she tasted the Aussie Freeze hairspray.
“Oh, you idiotic bird! I’m going to make you into a turducken!” she yelled, cringing. The asinine animal navigated early morning New Orleans’ traffic. Feathers flew as the duck squawked, making it to the other side without becoming roadkill.
She crossed carefully, dodging cars and keeping the feathered fiend in her peripheral as he made it to the open green before the Mississippi River. With a quick prayer, she hopped around to slip off the expensive shoes. Grateful he couldn’t fly, and she could run faster than he could waddle, she charged over the hill. In a move her high school diving coach would have been proud of, she leapt at the duck, grabbing the quaking animal, and sliding ten feet in the ivory pantsuit from Barney’s of New York.
Cradling the duck like a successful linebacker, she glanced at her pantsuit, and tried not to cry. It was no surprise why the dry cleaner always smiled big whenever she arrived.
Marching towards the townhouse on Bourbon Street, Tiffany named the duck a litany of curses she was sure would make any mechanic proud. She needed another shower, redo her frizz prone hair, find another pantsuit, and hopefully make it in time for her first appointment.
“I hate Mondays,” she grumped, running on bare feet.
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Italian
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Already translated.
Translated by Amy Van Haaften
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Portuguese
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Already translated.
Translated by Maynara Furquim
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Spanish
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Already translated.
Translated by Karina Caprile
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