Look Alive Twenty-Five (Stephanie Plum, #25)

by Janet Evanovich

Morelli was like the post office. He always delivered. If the delivery vehicle ran out of gas, there was no need to panic. Morelli had battery backup.

“All us good citizens in Jersey got attitude. We got pride. We got brass balls the size of watermelons. We got rude hand gestures and loaded guns

“I’m not fat,” Lula said, “I’m excessively proportioned. It goes with my extra-large personality.

Lula had decided to wear her ’ho leathers as an accompaniment to her massive magenta hair. She was stuffed into over-the-knee black stiletto-heeled boots, a tight black leather skirt that barely covered her hoo-ha, and a black leather bustier that was struggling to contain her triple-D boobs.

I personally don’t do drugs. I have enough trouble making smart decisions when I’m clean and sober.

Why are you late?” “I didn’t want to start my day.”

A gift card says I feel obligated to get you something, but I don’t care enough to put any effort into finding just the right gift. Gives people some idea of their place in your life, you see what I’m saying?”

My body had to make do with good genes, because I hated the gym. My favored exercise was walking the length of the mall to get to Cinnabon. So far, I was holding my own, but I suspect the future might be ugly.

Once again, the key to true happiness is lowered expectations.