Etsy – SaaS Onboarding Storyteller

Bella’s Very Last Attempt

Regardless of how many mariachi bands Hancho might hire, Bella knew her time with him was nearing its end. In the days that followed, he returned to his grumpy self. The dinners were no longer heavy spreads of flautas, fried plantains, and sangria.

Hancho grilled chicken or steak without seasoning and served it with cold salsa. He cracked bottles of beer and burped between bites. Despite his ever-bulging biceps, the man had lost all attraction for her.

Bella felt like a kept woman. She gave him one last test by hopping on Etsy and buying this gorgeous silk slip dress in burgundy. She wore it at dinner, hoping Hancho’s eyes would finally turn toward her as tears slid down her cheeks.

Listening to Hancho’s endless exercise routines made her sick. What about gazing at her once in a while? Asking about her day?

Bella tried three solid nights to connect with him. She cleared her throat, yet he spoke over her. She let him fondle her nipples while she talked about a new piece of gym equipment, but she might as well have been cloaked in armor.

On her final testing night, Bella broke down in tears. Hancho kissed her on the cheek, skipped to the bedroom, and shut the door. He might as well have buried her in that silk dress, spit on the tomb, and cursed her name for the rest of his life.

Bella had no choice but to form a new plan. One that will be revealed in the next post.

There’s an alluring piece of wardrobe made purely of silk. Should you use that link, I will be offered a few coins strictly for my amusement.

Hancho Steps It Up?

Just when you think you’re about to move in one direction, life has a funny way of asking, “Are you sure?”

Bella was almost certain she was going to leave Hancho. Her bags were packed. The costume was tucked neatly at the bottom. She even bought this gorgeous canteen, thinking she’d be living in the woods for months.

Lo and behold, Hancho came home one evening with a dozen balloons, a Mexican meal from Bella’s favorite restaurant, and a mariachi band. One of Bella’s favorite servers showed up to help. Hancho lit candles, dressed like he was going to a job interview, and waited for Bella to return.

At 7:30 p.m., Bella walked through the door and froze, wondering if she had entered the wrong apartment.

“Come in, come in,” Hancho shouted over the mariachi band.

“What’s this for?” Bella blushed.

“You’ve done so much for me, baby. You took a job so I could spend time at the gym. It’s time I pay you back. Sit down. I have wonderful news.”

Those three-plus hours he spent at the gym every day had caught the owners’ attention. They decided Hancho could be more than a patron. They hired him as a full-time trainer.

“So does that mean you’ll be spending more time at the gym?”

“Not necessarily.” Hancho took a sip of sangria. “I’ll be training with clients. You and I will get home from work around the same time.”

They toasted to Hancho’s new job. They ate, laughed, and giggled as if they were just meeting for the first time. The sangria kept flowing. Four pitchers later, everyone, including the mariachi band, was drunk.

Their server crashed on the couch. The band stumbled out of the apartment and nearly fell down the stairs.

As Bella’s vision spun in circles, she lay in bed listening to Hancho next to her and the server on the couch, both snoring like an entire forest being leveled. Before drifting off to sleep, Bella mumbled, “What the fuck am I doing?”

By the way, if that leather-wrapped canteen I mentioned earlier caught your eye, there’s a link above. If you pick one up, it throws a little change my way. Just promise me you’ll fill it with water, not sangria.

Hancho, Make This Real!

If you run a bakery, wouldn’t it make sense that your customers support you by buying pastries, breads, and other baked goods? If your answer is “no,” then I can’t help you. Not sure who can.

When it came to Bella and her romantic life, she expected Hancho to meet her partway. Not just by offering his gorgeous physique, but at the very least checking in on her.

Here’s a fantasy that often crossed her mind: she’s on her way home from work. Every passerby reeks like rotten eggs. Maybe she smells that way too.

The stairs up to her apartment feel like thirteen miles. She opens the door, and a woman Bella has never seen before has a massage table propped open in the living room.

“Bella, dear,” the woman says. “Hancho will be back any minute, but please hop in the bath.”

She locks fingers with Bella and leads her to the bathtub. The room is dimly lit with lavender-scented candles. Rose petals are tossed here and there. The bathwater is the perfect temperature.

The woman offers Bella a glass of champagne and tells her to take her time. When she’s done with her bath, she should wrap herself in this gorgeous pink robe.

Instrumental flute music plays in the background. Bella’s muscles ease. She almost falls asleep, but then remembers the massage.

She lifts herself out of the bath, dries off, and slips into that wildly soft pink robe. She shuffles to the massage table, lies down, and this time does fall asleep.

Each time she woke from this fantasy, she knew something had to be done. Either Hancho had to step it up, or she’d have to leave.

Above is a link. If you click it and buy that stunning robe, I’ll earn a teeny tiny profit.

Bella’s First Disappearing Act

If you ever met Bella on the street, you might have a hard time seeing her. It has nothing to do with her physique. She’s gorgeous, slender, with brown eyes that spark a mix of excitement and just a hint of naughtiness.

It’s her clothing that makes her disappear. She leans on black, gray, and white. Sometimes those colors overlap, sometimes they stand alone, but compared to the women in brighter outfits, Bella fades into the background.

She isn’t clueless about fashion. She dresses this way on purpose. Bella hates standing out, and muted colors let her slip by unnoticed.

That choice became her shield. If Hancho came looking, he’d scan the crowds for the blacks, grays, and whites he knew she wore. To test her theory, Bella decided to experiment.

She went on Etsy and found this hand-knit turtleneck in blue and white. Autumn was creeping in, and her lace dresses were useless against the cold. The sweater promised warmth and a new kind of disguise.

When it arrived, she tried it on, pulled her hair into a bun, layered on rouge and mascara, and glued on long lashes. Then she staked out Hancho’s gym.

He walked in and out several times, never once recognizing her. Bella grinned. Success.

She hurried home, washed off the makeup, folded the turtleneck, and slipped back into her old clothes. To Hancho, she was still the muted Bella he knew. But now she carried a secret.

Above is the very turtleneck she wore. If you pick one up, I’ll receive a small token of financial appreciation in return.

Be Gone, You Awful Entities?

There are some days when I just want to disappear. Close off the world to every entry to me. I’d retreat to an area with little to no cell reception. Toss all my belongings into a bag just like this.

There would be only two people who would lay eyes on me: the corner store clerk and the librarian. They would see me as the quiet, bearded man. Yes, in this fantasy, I happily threw away all my razors.

“He just shrugs, grunts, and occasionally grins,” they’d say about me.

I’d read so much that the librarian would be forced to update their collection. Eventually, all the wisdom would mount that I’d feel a need to share it with others.

But since I’m not there, I’ve got Bella to share her stories. It often feels like the universe has handed me a living, breathing, yet slightly needy book. One that’s warm and a damn good cuddler. One that needs food. Shelter. Protection from Hancho.

The DIY entity removal process didn’t work in Bella’s favor. She still awoke in the middle of the night with panic. Trembled hours before Hancho returned home. Fell asleep in a work meeting — can’t blame her for that one.

New York City is outnumbered by shaman types. Lots of them are frauds. Bella researched fifty of them and found one that most resonated with her. It was a grown Jewish man who called himself Shadowfeather. He listened to Bella, tuned into her energy, and then suffered a violent three-minute coughing fit.

Upon regaining composure, Shadowfeather said, “You have zero entities, darling. Whatever work must have cleared you. However, the issue is this Hancho person. Run. He wishes to enmesh himself with you. Weaken you. Hide his manipulative tactics by calling it love.”

Shadowfeather proceeded to list domestic violence shelters, but Bella assured him she didn’t need it. She’d get out fast. He almost didn’t let her leave, then remembered his role: shaman, not Bella’s poppa.

In the next episode, we’ll see how long it took Bella to follow Shadowfeather’s advice.

Above is an affiliate link. Click on it, purchase the lovely bag, and I will earn a few purchasing tokens, otherwise known as money.

Oh Where, Oh Where Has Hancho’s Father Gone?

The departure of Hancho’s father proved more challenging than Bella expected. She thought Hancho would be happier. More open to love-making. But no. He just sat there, clutching his father’s forgotten item: a jar of whipped tallow cream.

Hancho would unscrew the lid, take a whiff of the gorgeous vanilla bean scent, then close it as Bella came closer.

“Why don’t you put some on,” she advised.

“No. He left in a hurry. He’ll come back for it,” Hancho mumbled.

This went on for weeks. No sign of Hancho’s father. The man never had his cell phone on. It was only for emergencies.

“But what about emotional emergencies?” Hancho screamed, nearly smashing the whipped tallow jar to pieces.

“Calm yourself,” Bella said. “Put down the jar and let’s take a nap in the bedroom.”

For the first time (and last), Hancho took her advice. They lay side by side. Her leg draped over his. She caressed his fingers, then his heart, as he sobbed uncontrollably.

Above is an affiliate link (where I might make a few coins) to the most delicious-smelling, grass-fed beef tallow that’ll make you look and feel ten years younger. Too bad Hancho’s father never remembered to retrieve his jar. At least it’s in capable hands now… err, mine.