Tracy Davis

Tracy Davis's picture

Tracy Davis

&nbsp;My novel came out this week on Amazon.com! It's called &quot;MY HUSBAND RAN OFF WITH THE NANNY AND GOD DO I MISS HER&quot; &nbsp; It has one review so far (2 days ) and she gave it a 5 star! So please check ti out or read 1st chapter on my web-site, tracydavisarts.com. (questionaire re:purse on 1st.page! see below)<br /> <br /> <h2>My Husband Ran Off with the Nanny and God Do I Miss Her</h2> <div class="post-info">&nbsp;</div> <div class="post-entry"> <p><span><span><img title="Front Cover" class="alignleft size-medium wp-image-61" src="http://tracydavisarts.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/04/front_cover_2-196x300.jpg" height="300" alt="Front Cover" width="196" />Carly Macalister&rsquo;s life falls apart when she realizes getting a husband means getting a household.&nbsp; But with the help of an impeccably neat and doting young nanny, she finally feels like her life is under control.&nbsp; She has a thriving career, eccentric but loyal parents, and two children who don&rsquo;t understand her but adore her nonetheless.&nbsp; But when her husband has a mid life crisis a decade too early, she realizes she has a few more issues than expected.<br /> <em>My Husband Ran Off with the Nanny and God Do I Miss Her</em>&nbsp;treats us to a candid, hilarious, and highly compelling story of infidelity and self-discovery. Based on a combination of the authors own life experiences and those in which we can all relate, this outrageous story hits the mark every time.<br /> </span><strong>Available now exclusively on amazon.com&nbsp;</strong></span></p> <div><span><span><strong>ONE</strong></span></span></div> <div>&nbsp;</div> <div>&nbsp;<span>I pulled over obediently at the first flash and whirl, feeling&nbsp;</span><span>that sickening pit-of-the-stomach dread, and emptied my purse&nbsp;</span><span>on the front seat to try to find my driver&rsquo;s license. Let&rsquo;s see, the</span><span>last time I saw it&hellip;I think it was in a coat pocket somewhere.&nbsp;</span><span>I scrambled for my lipstick. &ldquo;Please, dear God, please, don&rsquo;t let&nbsp;</span><span>him arrest me. I&rsquo;ll go to church this very Sunday.&rdquo; I unrolled</span><span>the window, attempting to look contrite and charming. &ldquo;Merry&nbsp;</span><span>Christmas, Officer! I am sooo sorry.&rdquo;</span></div> <p><span>&ldquo;License please?&rdquo; he asked. He looked about twelve, so&nbsp;</span><span>flirting was out.</span></p> <p><span>&ldquo;Well, that&rsquo;s the thing. It was stolen. I&rsquo;m pretty sure. See?&rdquo;&nbsp;I&nbsp;</span><span>leaned back so he could see the contents of my purse while my&nbsp;</span><span>fingers fluttered over them&mdash;chocolate-covered change, crumpled&nbsp;</span><span>up TO DO lists from controlling husband Paul, a few&nbsp;</span><span>broken cigarettes, a pair of sunglasses with one arm, a credit&nbsp;</span><span>card, and Kleenex, but no driver&rsquo;s license.&nbsp;</span></p> </div>