Monday, August 25, 2014

Fifty Shades of Parody (Chapter 12c)

As Kate sits down beside me on my bed, I begin to cry even harder.
     "What's the matter, Ana?" she asks, concerned. "Did he call you four-eyes?"
     "No."
     "Did he call you pizza-face?"
     "No."
     "Did he call you a four-eyed pizza-face?"
     "No," I answer, and begin to sob even harder.
     "Then why are you crying?"
     "Because you're sitting on my hand."
     "Oh," she says, and shifts her weight, moving her sharp butt-bone so that it isn't trying to puncture my hand like a dull harpoon trying to puncture a fat whale's hand. Um, that is, if whales had hands. They don't, right? Yeah, that's what I thought.
     Speaking of my hand, I move it some place safer.
     "Oh, Ana," she says. "My poor, sweet Ana. My poor, sweet, four-eyed pizza faced Ana. Tell me all about it."
     "Tell you all about what?"
     "'It,' Ana, 'it.' Tell me all about 'it.'"
     "There's nothing to tell, really. Christian came..."
     "Christian came?" she interrupts. "What? And then left without leaving any money on the dresser? That... that... jerk!"
     "You didn't let me finish. He came and... and... we did the laundry," I confess, and turn my head. I can't bear to look into her eyes.
     "You did the laundry? Is that anything like the hokey-pokey? Oh, Ana... how could you?"
     "I couldn't help myself," I tell her. "His will is too strong."
     "I understand completely, Ana," she says, putting her arm around me and pulling me close. "The same thing happens to me all the time. I'm a sucker for a man who can snap his fingers. One time, a date of mine was going to leave a 20% tip, and I told him, 'Hey, you're not with some cheap floozy, buddy. You're with me, Katherine Kavanagh. An expensive floozy. You better give the waitress at least 50% or you'll never see me again.' So he left 75%. I took my cut from the waitress and never saw him again. I dumped him for the fry cook. Man, that guy was hot. He had tattoos and everything. But enough about me. What were we talking about?"
     "We were talking about me."
     "That's right. What about you?"
     "I was just saying that I'm so confused, Kate. Christian confuses me. Life confuses me. English food confuses me. Damn those English. I mean, if you have to add vinegar to your food to improve the flavor, then how bad must it taste? Personally, I don't care to eat anything I haven't seen dancing on TV. Especially oysters. I want my food dead, not pulled screaming from its home."
     "I understand completely, Ana," she says. "The same thing happens to me all the time. Only, with me, it's carrots. The only time I like to have a lot of carrots in front of me is when some poor sap gives me diamond jewelry. That's the only time I like to have a "jew" in front of me, too, for that matter. One time, when I was in England, the Duke of Earl was going to add vinegar to something he was just about to eat, and I told him, 'Hey, buddy, that's disgusting. You're not with some cheap floozy. You're with me, Katherine Kavanagh. The Crown Jewels of floozy. If you're going to add anything to what you're about to eat, it had better have the name Nightingale in front of it, or you'll never see me again.' So he left to go buy some relish, and I never saw him again. I dumped him for the guy in charge of shining his shoes. Man, could that guy give a spit shine. It's funny, Ana, but I've found that in life, food is like sex. When you haven't eaten in a while, even McDonald's will do. That reminds me: don't ever have sex with a clown. They taste funny. But enough about me. What were we talking about?"
     "We were talking about me."
     "That's right. What about you?"
     "I was just saying, ever since Christian's come into my life, I haven't had a moment's peace. He wants me, he doesn't want me. I want him, I don't want him. On the one hand, I hate the compulsive control freak that he is, but, on the other, my whites have never looked so white. There's so many things I don't understand. Who am I? Why am I here? If we're not supposed to eat animals, then why do they taste so good? Do you know what Christian told me? He told me that the most expensive food in the world is wedding cake. Can you believe that? How can he want me so much if he doesn't want me at all? I don't know, Kate, what do you think?"
     "I understand completely, Ana," Kate tells me, taking a deep breath. "The same thing happens to me all the time."
 
 
Fifty Shades of Funny
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