BHM That Befall Preposterously (~FFA, ~BHM, Romance, ~~WG, multi-part)
- Thread starter bayone
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A) i love this
B) i love that you had to call out canadian thanksgiving (i was like ...? Oh yeaaaa americans do it differently!)
B) i love that you had to call out canadian thanksgiving (i was like ...? Oh yeaaaa americans do it differently!)
fat hiker
***
How did I not see this story before? The Shakespeare, the tubby engineer, the woman who can't quite express her attraction, the campus setting - this is a marvelous read, worthy of a stage larger than just Dimensions!
Part IVa.
Sally awoke to the sound of people trying not to wake someone. By half-opening her eyes, she could make out Donald’s broad, blurred form near the door, in conversation with a smaller youth.
“Yes,” Donald was saying in response to some comment the other had made, “they study all night in the Humanities, too. Now let her sleep. Let me sleep.”
“All I said was that you’ve got some self-control, dude.”
“You said a bit more than that-- and she’s a friend -- not that it’s any of your business.”
“She friend-zoned you?”
“I said she was a friend; I never said she friend-zoned me. Don’t you have some data to massage?” The other student seemed to take the hint, for he picked up his knapsack and left, muttering that he’d be in the common room. Donald turned and saw that Sally was awake. She gave him an apologetic wave.
“Sorry you had to hear all that,” he grinned sheepishly.
“It’s ok. Thanks for kicking him out, though.” She wanted to add that she had no desire to ‘friend-zone’ Donald, just the opposite. You plan to tell him right now? In his room? Maybe he only wants to be friends with you, ever think of that? The taste of orange juice in her mouth reminded her she’d lain down without brushing her teeth, and slept for who knows how many hours. What if he says yes, kisses you, and you have awful breath? “Um, do you mind if I use the bathroom?” Donald opened the door:
“No problem, it’s to your left and round the corner.” Sallly tried not to exhale as she slipped past him, or on the other hand to walk so fast he might think she was fleeing him. In the bathroom (mercifully empty) she stared wild-eyed and wild-haired in the mirror for what felt like a long time. Augh. Your makeup’s smudged and you probably drooled in your sleep and he probably saw you do it and you’re stupid.
Eventually, after washing her face, rinsing her mouth, and taking a few deep breaths, she managed to convince herself she was not really a particularly repellent specimen of humanity, and tiptoeing back, she knocked timidly on the engineer’s door (next to the one with eight vinyl LPs tacked to it).
Donald had apparently changed in her absence, for he was tugging at the hem of a t-shirt that said SCHRODINGER’S UNDERGRAD, with a schematic face that smiled on one side and had a lolling tongue and X’d-out eye on the other; and which fit him a bit better than the one he’d worn to breakfast.
“Thanks for letting me crash. I hope I didn’t do anything to embarrass you --”
“Oh, if you mean Brent -- the one I had to kick out -- he’s… one of those guys who thinks women are either malfunctioning males or some kind of alien goddesses. Nothing he said was your fault.”
“That must make for some problems, in a co-ed residence.”
“Well, luckily, even Brent knows not to try floorcest.”
“Floorcest? Oh, dating someone from your own floor in residence.”
“And the girls on this floor could all kick his ass anyway. I mean, he’s harmless - oh no, should I not have brought you here? I don’t want you to feel unsafe.” He looked so worried for a moment that Sally laughed.
“It’s all right,” she said, resisting the urge to hug Donald’s fat, heavy middle. “I feel pretty secure with you around.” The young man blushed.
“Would you…” he began -- “Would you like to see the slime mold map I made of the campus.”
Sally’s heart had been in her mouth -- now she felt a mix of disappointment and relief. She could put her romantic worries aside for another occasion when she felt more glamourous.
Colin and Mark were stapling flyers in the entrance way when she returned to residence in the late afternoon.
“Take some to put up in the common room?” Colin asked, pushing a handful of photocopies on orange paper at her. Sally positioned the strap of her bag more securely on her shoulder and took a sheaf.
There was some clip art of a chainsaw photoshopped onto a pumpkin that was wearing a goalie mask. Next to this gruesome still-life was an incongruous picture of a mug of beer.
“I had nothing to do with the design,” Colin protested. “I was too busy to draw them anything better -- argh, that reminds me, I promised Karen I’d draw her a bunch of fake tattoos for her Hallowe’en costume; now I’ll have to buy some washable markers so she won’t be a walking art gallery for the rest of the semester.”
“I guess I’d better start planning a costume for myself, then.” Sally was halfway to the ground floor’s common room when she stopped. Damn. Gordon’s in their residence, isn’t he? The thought of having to deal with her classmate’s passive-aggressive… attacks? attempts at flirtation? all evening, even with friendlier faces in the room, sucked all the buoyancy out of her mood, and while she dutifully pinned up the flyers to the bulletin boards of each floor’s common room, by the time she reached her own floor she was jabbing the tacks into the paper vengefully into the pumpkin’s masked face and pretending it was Gordon’s.
“Lovers and madmen have such seething brains”
Sally awoke to the sound of people trying not to wake someone. By half-opening her eyes, she could make out Donald’s broad, blurred form near the door, in conversation with a smaller youth.
“Yes,” Donald was saying in response to some comment the other had made, “they study all night in the Humanities, too. Now let her sleep. Let me sleep.”
“All I said was that you’ve got some self-control, dude.”
“You said a bit more than that-- and she’s a friend -- not that it’s any of your business.”
“She friend-zoned you?”
“I said she was a friend; I never said she friend-zoned me. Don’t you have some data to massage?” The other student seemed to take the hint, for he picked up his knapsack and left, muttering that he’d be in the common room. Donald turned and saw that Sally was awake. She gave him an apologetic wave.
“Sorry you had to hear all that,” he grinned sheepishly.
“It’s ok. Thanks for kicking him out, though.” She wanted to add that she had no desire to ‘friend-zone’ Donald, just the opposite. You plan to tell him right now? In his room? Maybe he only wants to be friends with you, ever think of that? The taste of orange juice in her mouth reminded her she’d lain down without brushing her teeth, and slept for who knows how many hours. What if he says yes, kisses you, and you have awful breath? “Um, do you mind if I use the bathroom?” Donald opened the door:
“No problem, it’s to your left and round the corner.” Sallly tried not to exhale as she slipped past him, or on the other hand to walk so fast he might think she was fleeing him. In the bathroom (mercifully empty) she stared wild-eyed and wild-haired in the mirror for what felt like a long time. Augh. Your makeup’s smudged and you probably drooled in your sleep and he probably saw you do it and you’re stupid.
Eventually, after washing her face, rinsing her mouth, and taking a few deep breaths, she managed to convince herself she was not really a particularly repellent specimen of humanity, and tiptoeing back, she knocked timidly on the engineer’s door (next to the one with eight vinyl LPs tacked to it).
Donald had apparently changed in her absence, for he was tugging at the hem of a t-shirt that said SCHRODINGER’S UNDERGRAD, with a schematic face that smiled on one side and had a lolling tongue and X’d-out eye on the other; and which fit him a bit better than the one he’d worn to breakfast.
“Thanks for letting me crash. I hope I didn’t do anything to embarrass you --”
“Oh, if you mean Brent -- the one I had to kick out -- he’s… one of those guys who thinks women are either malfunctioning males or some kind of alien goddesses. Nothing he said was your fault.”
“That must make for some problems, in a co-ed residence.”
“Well, luckily, even Brent knows not to try floorcest.”
“Floorcest? Oh, dating someone from your own floor in residence.”
“And the girls on this floor could all kick his ass anyway. I mean, he’s harmless - oh no, should I not have brought you here? I don’t want you to feel unsafe.” He looked so worried for a moment that Sally laughed.
“It’s all right,” she said, resisting the urge to hug Donald’s fat, heavy middle. “I feel pretty secure with you around.” The young man blushed.
“Would you…” he began -- “Would you like to see the slime mold map I made of the campus.”
Sally’s heart had been in her mouth -- now she felt a mix of disappointment and relief. She could put her romantic worries aside for another occasion when she felt more glamourous.
* * * * *
Colin and Mark were stapling flyers in the entrance way when she returned to residence in the late afternoon.
“Take some to put up in the common room?” Colin asked, pushing a handful of photocopies on orange paper at her. Sally positioned the strap of her bag more securely on her shoulder and took a sheaf.
The WEST HOUSE MEN’S RESIDENCE
presents
HALLOWEEN PARTY
Friday, October 30th, 8 pm
GHOSTS ARE OUT TONIGHT -- THERE’S SAFETY IN NUMBERS!
presents
HALLOWEEN PARTY
Friday, October 30th, 8 pm
GHOSTS ARE OUT TONIGHT -- THERE’S SAFETY IN NUMBERS!
There was some clip art of a chainsaw photoshopped onto a pumpkin that was wearing a goalie mask. Next to this gruesome still-life was an incongruous picture of a mug of beer.
“I had nothing to do with the design,” Colin protested. “I was too busy to draw them anything better -- argh, that reminds me, I promised Karen I’d draw her a bunch of fake tattoos for her Hallowe’en costume; now I’ll have to buy some washable markers so she won’t be a walking art gallery for the rest of the semester.”
“I guess I’d better start planning a costume for myself, then.” Sally was halfway to the ground floor’s common room when she stopped. Damn. Gordon’s in their residence, isn’t he? The thought of having to deal with her classmate’s passive-aggressive… attacks? attempts at flirtation? all evening, even with friendlier faces in the room, sucked all the buoyancy out of her mood, and while she dutifully pinned up the flyers to the bulletin boards of each floor’s common room, by the time she reached her own floor she was jabbing the tacks into the paper vengefully into the pumpkin’s masked face and pretending it was Gordon’s.
I love that line! (I studied engineering, I knew guys like that....heck, at that age I probably had a mild case of it myself. But I've never seen it expressed that well)
That was short but made me laugh! Winner of best sexual tension breakup comment goes to Donald! "Would you like to see the slime mold map I made of the campus?"
wildandfree
Well-Known Member
I like this a lot! The orange juice breath line cracked me up.
Grundsau 11
pennagrundsau
Wondrous indeed. Truly , a dam' fine read.
More, please...
More, please...
fat hiker
***
This story just goes from strength to strength!
I love everything about this story, from the central couple itself to the incredibly believable and well-observed touches like Nadia feeling less safe at a protest and the Nice Guy floormate and the fact that sometimes you just can't sleep because you EXPECTED to pull an all-nighter and drank too much coffee. And I learned something about civil engineering! Wonderful.
Thatfatguy
Member
This is so good! I can't wait for more!
Note -- I’ve been feeling a bit of writer’s block on this, so here’s another short chapter in the hopes that putting up what I’ve got will motivate me to write more:
Part IVb.
“You all right? I thought you said you liked Hallowe’en.” While Sally took out her frustration on the bulletin board, Nadia had entered the common room with a cardboard box of student-y groceries (mostly ramen, though there was a carton each of milk and orange juice too). The Poli-Sci picked up a pad of sticky notes from the counter and began writing down her name and labelling each item before placing it in the cupboard or fridge, as Sally explained the fly named Gordon in this particular jar of ointment.
“I know,” she finished, “I have the right to wear what I want without being molested -- but I’ve seen this guy in class -- he’s creepy enough to make me uncomfortable and smart enough not to do anything I can actually lodge a complaint about. So I have three realistic options: one, skip the party altogether; two, go to the party and be on my guard the whole time; or three -- wear something that hides me from him. I’m not thinking burqua so much as a Darth Vader costume --” she paused. “Or a weaponized robot. Do you still need that cardboard box?” When Nadia shook her head, Sally picked up the empty box and gaged its width against the breadth of her shoulders. “I’ll need to collect some more,” (having, as a child, gone trick-or-treating dressed as a tube of toothpaste, Sally had sworn never again to design herself a costume with a stiff one-piece body), “but I’m going home this weekend, and unless my parents have suddenly decided to clean out the garage, there should be plenty.”
“Problem solved, then?” Nadia asked. “My work here is done.”
“Do you have a costume?”
“I was thinking of Sailor Mercury, but now I’m worrying that’ll just end with me spending the whole night telling people that I’m not Nicki Minaj.”
“Do you already have the uniform? You might have to be Sailor Moon -- at least there’s no mistaking that hairdo.”
“Yeah, but Sailor Mercury was always my favourite.” Sally frowned:
“Would it be cheesy to carry around a thermometer, to make it obvious?” Nadia laughed.
“That…. could work. I think my mom’s got one. When do you head home for Thanksgiving, by the way?”
“Friday, as soon as I get back from my morning class.”
Sally had always liked taking trips, even on low-glamour means of transportation like the greyhound bus. It got her away from her life, even if it was only for a few hours.
Donald had been primarily rehearsing the “Pyramis and Thisbe” bits the night before, and afterwards when everyone went out to the pub he’d seemed to avoid her, taking a seat at the other end of the table and talking with the director. When she’d bid him good night and a happy Thanksgiving weekend, he’d returned her hug awkwardly.
“Eat many things,” she’d added, and then blushed, feeling ridiculous.
Well. She’d worry about Donald later, and she’d bury her worries about Gordon in work on her Hallowee’n costume. In truth she really was looking forward to a couple of days of home and family.
With her small weekend bag packed, she left the campus and caught a city bus to the terminal where she walked around the corner, bought a sandwich and a coffee from the Tim Horton’s, and returned to wait for her ride, shivering a little in the cold air. She’d just thrown the cup and wrapper in a litter bin when the big bus pulled into the bay. The driver descended and opened the luggage hatch, but she didn’t have anything large with her, so she showed him her ticket and he waved her towards the holepunch machine by his seat.
Inside the bus, the grey upholstery was oddly soothing. Sally took a window seat near the back and closed her eyes.
Part IVb.
“You all right? I thought you said you liked Hallowe’en.” While Sally took out her frustration on the bulletin board, Nadia had entered the common room with a cardboard box of student-y groceries (mostly ramen, though there was a carton each of milk and orange juice too). The Poli-Sci picked up a pad of sticky notes from the counter and began writing down her name and labelling each item before placing it in the cupboard or fridge, as Sally explained the fly named Gordon in this particular jar of ointment.
“I know,” she finished, “I have the right to wear what I want without being molested -- but I’ve seen this guy in class -- he’s creepy enough to make me uncomfortable and smart enough not to do anything I can actually lodge a complaint about. So I have three realistic options: one, skip the party altogether; two, go to the party and be on my guard the whole time; or three -- wear something that hides me from him. I’m not thinking burqua so much as a Darth Vader costume --” she paused. “Or a weaponized robot. Do you still need that cardboard box?” When Nadia shook her head, Sally picked up the empty box and gaged its width against the breadth of her shoulders. “I’ll need to collect some more,” (having, as a child, gone trick-or-treating dressed as a tube of toothpaste, Sally had sworn never again to design herself a costume with a stiff one-piece body), “but I’m going home this weekend, and unless my parents have suddenly decided to clean out the garage, there should be plenty.”
“Problem solved, then?” Nadia asked. “My work here is done.”
“Do you have a costume?”
“I was thinking of Sailor Mercury, but now I’m worrying that’ll just end with me spending the whole night telling people that I’m not Nicki Minaj.”
“Do you already have the uniform? You might have to be Sailor Moon -- at least there’s no mistaking that hairdo.”
“Yeah, but Sailor Mercury was always my favourite.” Sally frowned:
“Would it be cheesy to carry around a thermometer, to make it obvious?” Nadia laughed.
“That…. could work. I think my mom’s got one. When do you head home for Thanksgiving, by the way?”
“Friday, as soon as I get back from my morning class.”
Sally had always liked taking trips, even on low-glamour means of transportation like the greyhound bus. It got her away from her life, even if it was only for a few hours.
Donald had been primarily rehearsing the “Pyramis and Thisbe” bits the night before, and afterwards when everyone went out to the pub he’d seemed to avoid her, taking a seat at the other end of the table and talking with the director. When she’d bid him good night and a happy Thanksgiving weekend, he’d returned her hug awkwardly.
“Eat many things,” she’d added, and then blushed, feeling ridiculous.
Well. She’d worry about Donald later, and she’d bury her worries about Gordon in work on her Hallowee’n costume. In truth she really was looking forward to a couple of days of home and family.
With her small weekend bag packed, she left the campus and caught a city bus to the terminal where she walked around the corner, bought a sandwich and a coffee from the Tim Horton’s, and returned to wait for her ride, shivering a little in the cold air. She’d just thrown the cup and wrapper in a litter bin when the big bus pulled into the bay. The driver descended and opened the luggage hatch, but she didn’t have anything large with her, so she showed him her ticket and he waved her towards the holepunch machine by his seat.
Inside the bus, the grey upholstery was oddly soothing. Sally took a window seat near the back and closed her eyes.
I always felt like that too. When I got on a bus I just relaxed in that bubble of neither here nor there.... I hope her trip treats her well!
silverasset
***
Love this story so much xx
Part V.
“We’ve arrived.” One of Sally’s fellow passengers, a woman in a bomber jacket, was tapping her cautiously on the shoulder.
“Erm? Oh, thanks for waking me.” Retrieving her weekend bag, she climbed down from the bus to find her father waving cheerily. He must have noticed her blinking in the bright sunshine, for after hugging her, he said:
“You look like you’ve had a few late nights recently. Studying too hard or partying too hard?” Sally smiled in spite of herself. She knew she was considered the wallflower of her family. Clapping her on the shoulder, her father added: “Well, we need to swing by the shopping plaza on the way home -- pick up some chouriço for the stuffing.” (Sally’s parents did a traditional North American turkey, with some Portuguese additions.) “Why don’t you get some coffee. That and a browse through the dollar store, you’ll feel like a new woman.”
“You know my weakness, Dad.” Well, perhaps not her every weakness. She’d never brought a boy home, after all.
Mr. Ferreria laughed through his moustache and climbed behind the wheel of the family car. They followed the curving roadways and pulled into the plaza parking lot. Taking her purse only, Sally waved briefly to her father, said:
“Meet you back here with the coffee,” and headed for the bright lights of the dollar store. Christmas and Hallowe’en items had been separated into adjacent aisles to avoid conflict. She strolled down each, looking for items to incorporate, and eventually settled on a spindle-shaped hanging tree ornament that flipped upside-down would, she thought, make a picturesque antenna. Then she hit the kitchenware aisle and picked up a couple of black quilted oven mitts, before paying and walking next door to pick up two medium double-doubles. Her father had left the car doors unlocked, but she waited outside for him, sipping her coffee while his sat cooling on the hood. She watched idly as shoppers carried items and loaded them into trunks, trying not to think about contacting Donald. If he wants to call, he will. She took out her phone and looked at his name on her contact list. She was about to open and re-read his past texts -- no harm in that, after all -- when her father reappeared with a grocery bag on each arm.
“How many things did you just pick up?”
“Well, I figured we might run out of rolls. And they had coffee on sale. And also oranges.”
The trouble with feasting on family-oriented holidays, Sally thought, is that it’s your own family that you get to watch overeat, which completely quelches the sex appeal. Shuddering at the thought of her father and uncle rubbing their stomachs and uttering rueful comments about having to diet for the next two months before doing it over again at Christmas, she fled to the garage to work on her costume. There were plenty of cardboard boxes, at least, and some leftover black spray paint with the Hallowe’en decorations she’d made for the front yard back in high school.
“Are you going to put those up?” One of her smaller cousins had followed her from the kitchen.
“Maybe later. I’m working on my costume.” With a black turtleneck and skinny jeans as a foundation, the oven-mitt “claws” and some sort of cardboard greaves over her biggest boots she could make this work. All that remained was to construct a mask. Sally had planned on using another cardboard box for the head, but when she came across an empty wastepaper bin, a happy thought struck her. Inverting it on her head, she checked the mirror and confirmed that she could see out through the black plastic mesh, while no one would be able to see in unless they brought their faces very close.
“Gordon probably won’t even be able to tell I’m female in this,” she exulted. “Now I just need to figure out how to attach the antenna.”
“Fishing line and hot glue? And who’s Gordon?”
“Someone I don’t like much, but he’s going to be at the same party, so I’d rather he not recognize me.”
“Like Mercia at my school?”
“Possibly.”
“What about people at the party you do like?”
“I’ll have to tell them what my costume’s going to be, I guess. Or come up and talk to them once I get there.”
“Nice Hermes get-up.” Grateful, Colin cautiously hugged Sally’s boxy costume.
“See? She gets it. Everyone else thinks I’m supposed to be Daisy Buchanan.”
“I suppose the tunic could look like a dress if you tilt your head. But I’ve had thought the wings were a giveaway.”
“And there’s no way I look like Gatsby,” rumbled Mark, adjusting the wreath of grape vines on his head. “I still think we should’ve gone as Norse gods, hon. I worry about you freezing your butt off.”
“Don’t worry, you’re my big heating pad.”
“Somebody say heating pad?” Nadia came up behind with her giant prop thermometer. “Sally, I’m not sure people are getting the Sailor Mercury costume. I may just have to claim I’m a sexy nurse.”
“Well, whatever works.” Sally peered through the mesh of her wastepaper-bin mask at the roomful of partygoers. There were a lot of sexy fill-in-the-blanks, of all genders. Also a highway (a sexy highway?) -- someone in black, anyway, with a white stripe down the front and little toy cars stuck on at intervals. The cars distinguished it from the skunk costume standing nearby. Near the door Godzilla had arrived, and was being photographed by Andy Warhol as two women in prom gowns, butterfly wings and false moustaches looked on. Gordon seemed absent from the scene, but so did Donald.
“We’ve arrived.” One of Sally’s fellow passengers, a woman in a bomber jacket, was tapping her cautiously on the shoulder.
“Erm? Oh, thanks for waking me.” Retrieving her weekend bag, she climbed down from the bus to find her father waving cheerily. He must have noticed her blinking in the bright sunshine, for after hugging her, he said:
“You look like you’ve had a few late nights recently. Studying too hard or partying too hard?” Sally smiled in spite of herself. She knew she was considered the wallflower of her family. Clapping her on the shoulder, her father added: “Well, we need to swing by the shopping plaza on the way home -- pick up some chouriço for the stuffing.” (Sally’s parents did a traditional North American turkey, with some Portuguese additions.) “Why don’t you get some coffee. That and a browse through the dollar store, you’ll feel like a new woman.”
“You know my weakness, Dad.” Well, perhaps not her every weakness. She’d never brought a boy home, after all.
Mr. Ferreria laughed through his moustache and climbed behind the wheel of the family car. They followed the curving roadways and pulled into the plaza parking lot. Taking her purse only, Sally waved briefly to her father, said:
“Meet you back here with the coffee,” and headed for the bright lights of the dollar store. Christmas and Hallowe’en items had been separated into adjacent aisles to avoid conflict. She strolled down each, looking for items to incorporate, and eventually settled on a spindle-shaped hanging tree ornament that flipped upside-down would, she thought, make a picturesque antenna. Then she hit the kitchenware aisle and picked up a couple of black quilted oven mitts, before paying and walking next door to pick up two medium double-doubles. Her father had left the car doors unlocked, but she waited outside for him, sipping her coffee while his sat cooling on the hood. She watched idly as shoppers carried items and loaded them into trunks, trying not to think about contacting Donald. If he wants to call, he will. She took out her phone and looked at his name on her contact list. She was about to open and re-read his past texts -- no harm in that, after all -- when her father reappeared with a grocery bag on each arm.
“How many things did you just pick up?”
“Well, I figured we might run out of rolls. And they had coffee on sale. And also oranges.”
* * * * *
The trouble with feasting on family-oriented holidays, Sally thought, is that it’s your own family that you get to watch overeat, which completely quelches the sex appeal. Shuddering at the thought of her father and uncle rubbing their stomachs and uttering rueful comments about having to diet for the next two months before doing it over again at Christmas, she fled to the garage to work on her costume. There were plenty of cardboard boxes, at least, and some leftover black spray paint with the Hallowe’en decorations she’d made for the front yard back in high school.
“Are you going to put those up?” One of her smaller cousins had followed her from the kitchen.
“Maybe later. I’m working on my costume.” With a black turtleneck and skinny jeans as a foundation, the oven-mitt “claws” and some sort of cardboard greaves over her biggest boots she could make this work. All that remained was to construct a mask. Sally had planned on using another cardboard box for the head, but when she came across an empty wastepaper bin, a happy thought struck her. Inverting it on her head, she checked the mirror and confirmed that she could see out through the black plastic mesh, while no one would be able to see in unless they brought their faces very close.
“Gordon probably won’t even be able to tell I’m female in this,” she exulted. “Now I just need to figure out how to attach the antenna.”
“Fishing line and hot glue? And who’s Gordon?”
“Someone I don’t like much, but he’s going to be at the same party, so I’d rather he not recognize me.”
“Like Mercia at my school?”
“Possibly.”
“What about people at the party you do like?”
“I’ll have to tell them what my costume’s going to be, I guess. Or come up and talk to them once I get there.”
* * * * *
“Nice Hermes get-up.” Grateful, Colin cautiously hugged Sally’s boxy costume.
“See? She gets it. Everyone else thinks I’m supposed to be Daisy Buchanan.”
“I suppose the tunic could look like a dress if you tilt your head. But I’ve had thought the wings were a giveaway.”
“And there’s no way I look like Gatsby,” rumbled Mark, adjusting the wreath of grape vines on his head. “I still think we should’ve gone as Norse gods, hon. I worry about you freezing your butt off.”
“Don’t worry, you’re my big heating pad.”
“Somebody say heating pad?” Nadia came up behind with her giant prop thermometer. “Sally, I’m not sure people are getting the Sailor Mercury costume. I may just have to claim I’m a sexy nurse.”
“Well, whatever works.” Sally peered through the mesh of her wastepaper-bin mask at the roomful of partygoers. There were a lot of sexy fill-in-the-blanks, of all genders. Also a highway (a sexy highway?) -- someone in black, anyway, with a white stripe down the front and little toy cars stuck on at intervals. The cars distinguished it from the skunk costume standing nearby. Near the door Godzilla had arrived, and was being photographed by Andy Warhol as two women in prom gowns, butterfly wings and false moustaches looked on. Gordon seemed absent from the scene, but so did Donald.
wildandfree
Well-Known Member
Nice update! Thank you!
"The trouble with feasting on family-oriented holidays, Sally thought, is that its your own family that you get to watch overeat, which completely quelches the sex appeal. Shuddering at the thought of her father and uncle rubbing their stomachs and uttering rueful comments about having to diet for the next two months before doing it over again at Christmas, she fled..."
^^^
THIS!!! So this!!!
^^^
THIS!!! So this!!!
I know, right?
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