Monday, September 28, 2015

Fifty Shades of Parody (Chapter 21c)

Kate is practicing a magic trick when I come home. She's making a salami disappear.
     Mmm... salami.
     "How did your interviews go?" she asks.
     I can't believe she's interested.
     "Good," I tell her.
     "Gee, that's too bad."
     "Why's that?"
     "Because the better people around me do, the less special my accomplishments seem in comparison. That's why I lent you those jean overalls to wear, to sabotage you. They belong to the family handyman, George. He works at our Vermont inn."
     "Is that why you wanted me to go braless?"
     "No, I thought going braless would help take the wrinkles out of your face."
     I look at what I'm wearing. I thought I looked cute.
     "Don't you know?" I tell her. "Boho country is in. Can you give me a lift to the airport?"
     "Are you going somewhere?"
     "To visit my mom. She's works there as a prostitute."
     I wish I could say my mom and I are close, but, unfortunately, because of her alcoholism, that's not the case. As sad as it sounds, I used to wish I'd grow up to be a margarita so my mother would pay more attention to me. I remember how, when I was a toddler, my mother would tie a bone around my neck to get the dog to play with me so she could spend the afternoon drinking herself into a stupor. I love that woman so much.
     Kate shocks me out of my reverie by telling me she broke up with Crockett. OMG!, WTF!, and LOL! And I thought they made such a great couple. They were practically attached at the hip, but the doctor refused to do the surgery at the last minute.
     "How'd you do it?" I ask her.
     "Do what?"
     "Break up with him?"
     "Easy," she says. "I just told him I was pregnant."
     "And what did he say?"
     "He said, 'See ya,' and was out of the door faster than a White House denial. Hee, hee... works every time."
     Before we leave, I send Christian a quick email. I don't know if he'll respond, as busy as he is. I mean, he's a rich billionaire businessman, if I can be so redundantly blunt. He must have a ton of things to do, with people needing his attention every single second of the day.
     He writes back immediately.
From: Christian Grey
To: Anastasia Steele
Well, if it isn't Farmer Jones. How did your interviews go?
From: Anastasia Steele
To: Christian Grey
They went well. I just wanted to say bye, before I leave for the airport.
From: Christian Grey
To: Anastasia Steele
Are you going somewhere?
     At the airport, Kate slows down enough for me to safely jump out of her car. I hope George doesn't mind a few tears at the knees. Fortunately, torn jeans are in.
     I get to the airport, and I'm about to sit in public seating, when a security guard approaches me.
     "Excuse me, ma'am," he tells me. "I'm here to escort you to the First Class waiting area, where you can drink, be massaged, and have your nose-hairs plucked."
     "I don't need my nose-hairs plucked," I tell him, indignantly.
     "I guess they do keep your upper lip warm," he acknowledges, and then, taking my arm, leads me away.
     I can't help thinking: How dare Christian Grey arrange for me to be pampered in the First Class waiting lounge.
     That guy is the biggest jerk I know.
     I send him another email.
From: Anastasia Steele
To: Christian Grey
You are the biggest jerk I know!
From: Christian Grey
To: Anastasia Steele
What did I do now?
From: Anastasia Steele
To: Christian Grey
Well, if you don't know, I'm certainly not telling you!
     Ugh. I narrow my narrow eyes narrowly and press send. If that Christian Grey thinks he can buy me, well, he can, but that doesn't mean I have to enjoy it the way a reasonably normal person would. It'll take more than a complimentary nose-hair plucking for that, and, just to make sure, I call the security guard over.
     "Is it the end of the chapter?" I ask him.
     "Yes," he tells me.
     "Then I'll take the nose-hair makeover after all."
American Chimpanzee

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