Ever been almost beheaded by a snow plow? Turned into an undead by a homeless vampire? Cheated and betrayed by your lying sack of shit husband? Welcome to my life. Or, more correctly, my crazy afterlife.

To everyone behind the gates of our wealthy community in Charming, Mississippi, my husband and I were the Joneses everyone tried to keep up with. A beautiful house, the perfect gated community, two gorgeous kids, and a supposedly flawless marriage.

Until I came home and caught him rolling around in our bed, hip-deep in my best friend. Which led to the aforementioned snow plow incident. I woke up with a fear of the sun and a propensity for drinking blood. Or, in laymen’s terms, a vampire.

I thought vampires were supposed to be hot and irresistible. But my maker smells like he just stepped out of a sewer, and he has the appeal of a turd in a punch bowl. But you know how life is as one of the Joneses - you gotta keep up. Keep up appearances, that is.

I’ve swapped my triple, venti, sugar-free, nonfat caramel macchiato for a stainless steel rambler that keeps my O-negative at the perfect room temperature. I can still manage the carpool lane, with the right sunglasses to hide my crazy eyes. But between daytime soccer games, a missing college student who might have been a vampire kill, trying not to drain my soon-to-be-ex-husband, and keeping my neighbors in the dark, I’m shaking in my Jimmy Choos. I'm not sure I can do this.

My name is Rachel Jones, and I’m the vampire housewife.