(Minds out of the gutter people, that's not what the title means.)

Essie rushed around her apartment, simultaneously throwing random bras, panties and sweaters into her small suitcase and stuffing cold pancakes into her face.

Her phone rang, and upon seeing the caller ID, she answered, even though her mouth was still crammed with partially chewed pancakes. "FLLO?"

"Essie?" Her mother's impatient voice whined from the other end.

Essie swallowed dramatically and then said, "Yes, Mom, it's me!" She rolled her eyes in irritation. Who else would answer my cell phone, Mom? She thought sarcastically.

"You shouldn't answer the phone with your mouth full," her mom chided. "It's not polite, and it's definitely not professional."

"Well, then you shouldn't call me when I'm eating!" Essie snapped.

"Watch your tone, young lady," her mother warned. "I just wanted to remind you that cocktails will start at 6:00 sharp."

"I know, Mom. You already told me. And you sent me an email. And you texted me."

"I know, sweetie, I just wanted to make sure you remembered."

Essie rolled her eyes again. Yeah, Mom, I can understand why you'd think your 25-year-old daughter would forget something you've reminded her about 89 billion times.

"I'll be there, Mom," Essie assured her.

"Oh, and honey, don't forget to wear the sweater dress I bought for you."

"Mom, that thing is obscene! The reindeer are humping each other."

"Oh, Essie!" Her mom said. "They are frolicking."

"Well, the last time I saw reindeer frolicking like that, Bambi happened," Essie scoffed.

"You'd better change your attitude, young lady. We don't need your sour mood to ruin Christmas! You will wear that sweater! Now, here's your father."

Fantastic! Essie thought. I was just thinking about how much I need more negativity in my day.

"Hey, baby girl, I just wanted to make sure you are ready for your interview with Mr. Farmington today."

Crap!

"Of course, Daddy. I'll be there at 11:30 sharp."

"The interview is at 11:00, baby girl." It was amazing how he could use a term of endearment in such a condescending way.

"Yes, 11:00. That's what I said."

"No, baby girl, I heard you say-"

"Bye, Daddy, gotta get ready for the interview!" She hung up and turned her phone off.

Essie looked at the clock. It was only 8:30 – she had plenty of time for a quick dye.

"Berry Burgundy," she read the name on the box of dye. "That should be easy enough." She looked in the mirror at her long, dark, caramel brown hair. She didn't mind the color, but she got bored easily, so today it was going to be "Berry Burgundy".

She quickly applied the dye and then began the process of making up her face. She was patting on the powder when she remembered that she hadn't finished packing. Oh, and she still had to dig the hideous sweater out of the back of her closet. She washed her hands quickly and went back to tossing random pieces of clothing into her suitcase. She dug into her drawers to find a few shirts.

"Oh, yes!" She cackled. "Mom will love this one!" She pulled out a t-shirt that read Keep Calm and Plot Your Revenge. Then she found another one her mother would love; it read I'd Rather Be a Smart Ass Than a Dumb Ass. So what if they were t-shirts in the middle of winter? She grabbed a few long-sleeved shirts to wear under them.

She finally pulled out the humping reindeer sweater and a pair of leggings to go with it. Oh, and bright red and green Christmas socks to complete the look.

"Sure, I'll go to the interview, Dad," she muttered to herself. "But they'll take one look at me and throw me out on the street."

Suddenly, she remembered the dye in her hair.

"No! Crap! No!!!" She shrieked running to the bathroom. She yanked the towel of her head and she was faced with a lovely Ronald McDonald shade of red. "Shit."

She didn't have the time or the chemicals to fix it. No matter, it was one more reason Mr. Farmington would not only refuse to hire her, but he also might just ban her from his building. He might even move away from his long-term friends and neighbors, the wonderful Richards, aka, Essie's parents.

As she wound her long and very bright red strands into a messy bun, she smirked, knowing she would have the last laugh.

"Sure, Dad. I went to the interview. Yes, it went great. No, I have no idea why Mr. Farmington didn't hire me. Shoot, I really wanted that job, too," she drawled sarcastically. She realized she would appear crazy to anyone who might be observing her in the confines of her small apartment, but she didn't really care. Since her parents thrived on belittling her, she figured she would give them fuel for the fire.

Essie arrived at the tallest office building downtown, Farmington Enterprises. She glanced at her cell phone and realized that she hadn't turned it back on. She quickly powered it up and caught sight of the time: 10:58 AM.

Good, I still have a few minutes, she thought devilishly. Oh, and while I'm at it, I'll turn the volume up to high and hope that someone calls during the interview.

"Hey, there, chica," Essie said, greeting the secretary in the most unprofessional way. "I gots an intraview wit Mr. Farmingtann," she said with a faux hillbilly accent.

The cringe on the old woman's face was so worth it, even though Essie was digging her professional grave with each word she spoke. The old lady sat there with a somewhat confused look on her face. Her silver hair was pulled back into a tight bun, and she wore cat's eye glasses. Essie wondered whether they were new or like 80 years old. The woman also inhabited a dark gray suit that was most likely 97% polyester, 3% mothballs.

How is this woman still alive, let alone working at a big-name company? Essie wondered. Her gaunt face showed her age, which Essie guessed to be somewhere around 97 years old.

When Essie tore off her hat, the secretary gasped in shock and then tried to fake a coughing fit to make it look like she wasn't scandalized by the shade of red on Essie's head.

Essie stifled a giggle, thoroughly enjoying the impression she was making on the crotchety old woman.

"Well, yes, let me show you to Mr. Farmington's office," she said, leading Essie to a massive room with a ridiculously large black desk. Mr. Farmington's chair was facing the expansive windows that overlooked downtown, but he swung around when he heard his secretary's timid voice.

"Ms. Richards is here to see you...finally."

Nice one, Grandma, Essie thought to herself. Yes, I'm late, but it was on purpose. I wouldn't be caught dead working for this guy, although his office is quite luxurious.

"Well hello, Esther. It's lovely to see you again," said Mr. Farmington as he stretched his hand toward her. She slapped him five, leaving a dumbfounded look on his face.

Then she sat down and kicked her feet up onto the gigantic desk.

"How's it hanging, Phil?"

"I beg your pardon, young lady. You are here on your father's reputation as a fine businessman. I will not have you make a mockery of this company or the stringent hiring process we employ."

Essie snorted. "Employ! I see what you did there. Sorry, Todd. It's just hard to take you seriously when I remember seeing you belly-flopping into our pool in your skimpy swim shorts."

"Esther! I demand that you sit up and act like the promising young woman that you are and take this interview seriously!"

That was the problem. Everyone in Essie's life demanded that she act like someone she wasn't. Oh, she had promise all right. But not performing for some full-of-himself business owner, even if he was a millionaire. Her parents had a lot of money, too, but she'd never seen that make them very happy.

Essie was passionate about art, and she knew she was quite good. She had already sold some of her smaller pieces, and the word about her was beginning to spread. But it was hard to get a start in the art community, and all her father saw was wasted opportunity.

"All right, sir. I apologize. I would be happy to have you crawl up my ass with a microscope to determine whether I would make a good robot to add to your organization." With that, she drove the last nail into her professional coffin, but it couldn't have felt better. This was her way of getting back at her father indirectly. Of course, he'd hear about it and she'd have hell to pay when she got to the chalet where they were spending Christmas together as a big, happy family. But for now, it felt so wonderfully freeing!

"That's it, Esther!" He roared, his face turning red and his nostrils flaring. "Please leave immediately, or I will have you escorted out of the building."

"Gladly!" Essie said, standing up and heading toward the door. She was tempted, so very tempted, to flip him off as she left, but she figured she was in enough trouble already.

She giggled to herself all the way to her job. Her dad was going to be so pissed. You might think Mr. Farmington was pissed. No, he was mildly displeased compared to what Essie's father was going to be. But again, she didn't care. She was ready to go ballistic and her parents were still loading bullets in the chamber.

She walked into John Wayne's Saloon like a madwoman, a diabolical grin adorning her face.

Her best friend (fourteen years running) Lilibeth stopped in her tracks and sucked in a sharp gasp. "Essie, what the hell? You look like Carrot Top!"

"I know," she laughed a little crazily. "Isn't it great?"

Lilibeth stepped right in front of her best friend; their noses were almost touching. She demanded, "What is going on?!"

Essie simply answered, "My parents."

And Lilibeth nodded in understanding; actually, sympathy was more like it. Lilibeth knew Essie's parents. She had suffered through many, many painful years of being parented by Mr. and Mrs. Richards. Oh, you heard me – it wasn't enough that they had to ruin the lives of their own children, but they had to ruin the lives of every person their children ever brought home.

The Richards kids didn't bring many friends home.

Lilibeth was quirky and tough and she had a mind of her own. She was well accustomed to standing her ground or flat out ignoring the Richards. Like the time Mrs. Richards tried to give Lilibeth advice on dating...and sex...and...yeah, well let's just not go there.

But she could most definitely relate to the misery they inflicted upon Essie, especially at the holidays when the Richards were supposed to act, look, and feel like the picture-perfect family.

Suffice it to say that Essie's parents had boundary issues. And issues with being controlling. And issues with being nice. Basically, they had issues with being normal, functioning human beings.

Essie quickly went to the staff office, threw her coat off and donned an apron. Her boss, John came in behind her and asked excitedly, "Do you like it?"

Essie turned around and John gasped in surprise at the sight of Essie's hair, but he recovered quickly.

"Do I like what?" Essie asked.

"Look!" He pointed to a box on his desk that contained a sheriff's badge, a pair of handcuffs, and a very authentic-looking old pistol.

"Wow, John! These are pretty cool," She said, inspecting the goods. "Are they real?"

"Hell, yeah, they're real. Whaddya take me fer? A mush-head? They weren't cheap, let me tell you that. I thought they'd look good mounted on the wall behind the bar, with that old sheriff's hat."

Essie was convinced that John was born in the wrong century. He had an unnatural obsession with the Old West. He was a self-proclaimed cowboy, and yes, he actually had a ranch with horses. And his name was John "Zayn" Wayne. No joke. His given name was Zayn, but he had legally changed it to honor the great John Wayne. The most bizarre part was that he was Pakistani. Not to be racist, but he just didn't look like a John Wayne or any other type of cowboy.

Even when he wore his chaps.

This would also explain the name of the establishment: John Wayne's Saloon. He couldn't have called it a pub or a restaurant-bar; no, it had to be saloon. He even tried to make the female wait staff dress in barmaid costumes, complete with feathers and bustiers.

Lilibeth and Essie drew the line and flat out refused. He just couldn't convince them that they'd get better tips dressed that way, and he couldn't very well fire them because they were his best employees, and they'd been there for years.

"Okay," Essie laughed. "Just make sure that gun's not loaded before you put it on display."

"Sakes alive!" He snapped, putting on his Old West lingo the way he did when he was excited about a new acquisition. "I ain't that feather-brained, woman. Of course it ain't loaded!"

Essie just laughed and went to start her three-hour shift. Her boyfriend Niall was picking her up at 4:00 PM so that they could make it to the cabin by "6:00 sharp," per Mrs. Richards' orders.

The place was hopping for two days before Christmas. You'd think that people would be out shopping or caroling or feeding the poor, but no. They were all here, getting wasted at the home of the only Pakistani cowboy in the country, or maybe in the world.

Essie lost count after hearing, "nice reindeer, Red," about twenty times as she took orders and toted drinks. The worst thing about the sweater was that Essie was well-endowed, so her boobs made the humping reindeer stand out like a sore thumb. And of course, she was drawing even more attention to herself with her lovely dye job.

The employees had to wear aprons with a picture of a cowboy on them. They had a nice little saying across the front: A real cowgirl can do it all; A real cowboy won't let her. Essie actually liked that saying – it communicated that women are strong and powerful, but that men should still be chivalrous, regardless of the strength women possess.

Unfortunately, the damn apron didn't cover up the reindeer doing the nasty.

She managed to either laugh or ignore most of the comments, but when she came to one particular table, her jaw dropped clear to the floor when one of the "gentlemen" at the table commented, rather descriptively, about the position of the reindeer. It was hard to offend Essie, but she actually wanted to slap the prick's face, even if he was extremely hot with his green eyes and long, wavy brown hair and his sexy voice. He looked like he could be a rock star, but his manners were detestable.

His companion shut him up quickly and then turned to Essie to apologize.

When his eyes met hers, she was pretty sure she was transported to another time, another place, another continent, another dimension. Holy crap, he was beautiful. His eyes were like melted milk chocolate, which doesn't sound very romantic, but if you fully understood Essie's devotion to chocolate, you'd know that, in her mind, she was paying him the highest compliment possible.

And it didn't stop with his eyes. He had a little boy's face wrapped up in a man-sized package. He had just enough stubble lining his square jaw that she knew he was man, but his boyish charm led her to believe that he was sweet as...hell, let's just use the chocolate reference again because it's the ultimate experience in every way.

She watched his mouth move as he apologized for his friend, his tongue occasionally peeking out from behind his teeth, making it look like he'd have a lisp, but he didn't. And his smile was just lopsided enough to make him absolutely irresistible.

"Miss?" he asked. Essie's eyes were still trained on his perfect nose. "Miss?"

Suddenly she snapped out of it and began to stutter, "I...I'm sorry...thank you for apologizing, I mean, I hear it all the time, but most people don't apologize and so thank you, that was very kind of you, and I know you apologized for your friend, but it was still a very nice thing to do-"

"Miss, can you please take our orders now?"

She closed her eyes and shook off her babbling jag. "Yes, of course, what can I get for you?"

They gave her their orders and started walking away, but she heard the cute one say to the prick, "Harry, why do you have to treat women like they're rubbish?" It warmed her heart to hear that he was still standing up for her.

She rushed into the kitchen to tell Lilibeth, "Check out the guy in the tan overcoat at Table 17. He is absolutely perfect! And get this – he has a British accent!"

Lilibeth smiled and responded, "Hon, I already have a boyfriend, remember?"

"I was talking about for me!" Essie laughed.

"You, my dear, have a boyfriend as well."

Essie just stood there, looking dumb for a moment.

"You know, Niall," Lilibeth went on.

"Oh, right. And speaking of  Niall, there he is," she said as she saw him through the window of the kitchen door. She couldn't hide the disappointment in her voice.  Niall was handsome enough, but nothing compared to the wonderful British specimen at Table 17.

"I told you I'm leaving at 4:00, right?" She called over her shoulder.

"Only about 75 times," Lilibeth called back.

Oh, great, I'm turning into my mother, Essie thought. Kill me now.

She walked over to  Niall, who was clearly searching for her.

"Hi, there," She said, putting on her happiest face. "Are you ready to go? I just have to get my-"

"Um, yeah, about that, Essie. I think I'm going to pass on the whole family Christmas scene. It's just not my thing, you know?"  Niall began.

Her jaw dropped. "What!? You can't cancel now! My parents are expecting to meet you! They think I have a boyfriend who actually has a successful career; no, they know I have a boyfriend and if I show up without you, they'll disown me!"

"Yeah, I kind of have a problem with that, too," he said.

"With what?" She asked innocently.

"With the whole needy girlfriend thing. I mean, it's a real turn-off. And we haven't really known each other long enough to be meeting each other's parents. And geez, Essie, we haven't even had sex yet."

"W...well, I know, but we can, you know, maybe this weekend. I mean, we'll have lots of free time and-"

"No, Essie. This is good-bye. As in forever." Then he walked quickly towards the door.

"You're dumping me?! On Christmas?!" She yelled after him.

Oh, no, Essie thought. What  am I going to do now? My life is over! If only I had a nice, beautiful boyfriend like Mr. Perfect-and-British at Table 17...

Her thoughts were halted as she rushed back into the staff office to get her things and she caught sight of John's prized pistol. And the handcuffs.

And then, Esther Marie Richards went completely off the rails.

Lilibeth came in and asked, "Didn't you say you were leaving?"

"I am," she said, with a gleam in her eye. "And I'm taking this with me. I'm about to make this the best Christmas ever!" She said in a maniacal voice, while grabbing the box containing the pistol and the handcuffs.

"Essie, you're scaring me," Lilibeth called after her best friend.

"I'll be fine!" Essie yelled back over her shoulder. She rushed out to her beat up car and stashed the open handcuffs inside the glove box. Then she tucked the pistol inside of the waistband of her leggings and let her long winter coat conceal it.

She ran back into the saloon, mumbling under her breath, "Best Christmas ever."