It is approximately twelve thirty in the morning, and I am feeling incredibly sleepy, but yet another chapter calls my name. Why? Because I just saw Troll 2 for the second time, and I feel the need to write something less mind numbingly awful.
It was a very special day for Blair.
It was a very special day for Blair, realized Blair.
She quite liked being a toddler. Contrary to the popular, adult opinion, Blair was having a good deal of fun and didn’t fancy herself to be a messy, tantrum addict. In fact, in her eyes, she was practically an adult already. She could speak as well as children with a speech impediment, use the gnome sized toilet (she had only missed once), and toddle around the house better than her mother could on a bad morning. She shouldn’t be forced to change into some unnecessary, awkward form just because her biological clock was ticking. It was a bit depressing, she thought. Soon, she’d be as gray as an elephant’s behind, and her mother would be pushing daisies in the backyard. Blair found this growing up business to be a very sorry thing indeed.
Bridget, on the other hand, was very excited for Blair’s impending birthday. One birthday closer to the next heir, the next generation, and that cheesy goodness waiting for their family. Bridget had even planned a party, much to Blair’s chagrin. It would be small, but she was certain it would be a modest success.
Benjamin, Not-Scotsman, and Bridget’s sassy black friend (let’s just call her SBF, shall we?) arrived within the hour, and proceeded to have a very American party.
“This is my eighth soda today,” said SBF.
“How are you not fat?” scoffed Benjamin.
“This is the Sims 2,” said SBF.
Bridget immediately got down to business. Though it took around twelve attempts to pick up Blair and haul her to the cake, the candles were blown out. The act was complete.
“Not even cake can make me happy. This haircut is nasty.”
Fine, fine. I’ll get you a makeover, if that’s what you damn please.
Awh, look, that’s much better.
Outside, the party was heating up.
Bridget was not, in fact, crying for Darren or for Andy, who ran away (I forgot about him, sorry). She wept in joy. “I know we’ve known each other for maybe a day,” she sobbed, “but I feel this wave, but it’s not a tsunami, it’s not a hurricane. No, Benjamin, it’s you. I’ve been so lonely, but whenever I’m with you, you’re all that I see. I want you, Benjamin. Please. Come live with me and my family? We don’t even need to be married. Just you and me and Blair. It’ll be lovely.”
“Well, I consider myself a proper man and would like to see an engagement by the end of the evening,” said Benjamin thoughtfully, “and I’m not one for children. But I suppose you do have a point. I am very charming, aren’t I? I’m so glad you appreciate that. I’ll put my duffel bag in your bedroom, our bedroom, I mean.”
“I love you!” Bridget cried.
“Oof, I know,” said Benjamin through his smile.
It was then the birthday party plummeted.
“Bridget, what’s this filth on my shoes?”
“I think those are, um, cockroaches.”
Benjamin coughed, trembling violently. “Diseased cockroaches?” he said, turning in Bridget’s direction.
“I believe so,” she hacked.
“Diseases everywhere!” wailed Not-Scotsman. “Just like my ex-wife’s-!”
“You all should leave,” coughed Benjamin.
Ruined by disease, the party turned out to be a disaster.
Saddened by the Belue family’s latest failure, Bridget and Benjamin retired to the indoors. Bridget to fix the computer-it had been broken for a few days now, and now that Blair was entering school, she had time to get a job again-and Benjamin to call up an exterminator.
The phone call was quick and easy. Benjamin prided himself on those qualities. He considered himself to be quick to the point, and a man who meant each word he said. Ever. Honesty, he thought, was his greatest virtue. “Man, am I great,” grinned Benjamin.
A shriek erupted from the office. Benjamin’s smile froze.
“Bridget! What did you get yourself into?”
“We-e-ll if you-ou loo-oo-k stra-aight ahead-ad you could see-ee I’m be-ing elec-lec-tro-tro-cute-ed!”
“This is almost as scary as Scooby Doo on Zombie Island!” coughed Benjamin, who, while he prided himself on many things, had little sense as to how he should handle life threatening situations. He had never been much of a moviegoer. Scooby Doo on Zombie Island was the last film he’d seen, at age seven.
“Oh god, Bridget, wouldn’t it be terrible if there was a fire? I’d simply die from the shame. Also, could you be a dear and not die right now?”
One good thing about growing up, Blair had come to realize, was that she was now tall enough to dial 911.
Thank god for Sims 2 firefighters. These guys are lifesavers. They save lives. And also computers.
At the same time, the exterminator arrived. These guys are life ruiners. They ruin lives. Of cockroaches, that is.
Despite all immediate threats taken care of, poor Benjamin couldn’t seem to grasp what had just happened. The awful party, the awful illness, the awful electrocution, the awful fire.. He felt as if the world had simply shat on his face, and he had no will to sit up and wipe it of. Quite simply, he felt finished.
“And zis is where I come in. Get off your ass, man.”
“Wow, Einstein? You’re a bit more, er, how should I put this? You’re a bit more frumpy than in the pictures.”
“Get off your high horse, Benjamin,” snapped Einstein. “You fear what is common. You love what is not. Your solution is inside this house.”
“Right,” said Benjamin, feeling much better. Einstein’s words were medicine. “By the way, huge fan of your theories. Even I couldn’t have thought of them, and that is saying a lot.”
“May we never meet again…” called Einstein, fading into the ceiling.
In front of the house, Bridget had made a lovely little discovery.
“A love letter?” wondered Bridget aloud. “I haven’t gotten one of these since the second grade. I felt so bad for the boy who sent it, too. He wasn’t very cute.”
No, Bridget. No he wasn’t.
“It’s from Benjamin!” she giggled. She shivered in anticipation. This was certainly much better than sweeping poop off the floor. Bridget opened the letter.
“Benjamin, can I see you in the bedroom?” Bridget called, coughing a little.
“Darren’s stealing your papers again!” returned Benjamin.
“I don’t care!” she said, smiling. She truly didn’t. Feeling lighter, she added, “Just come here!”
“We can really make this work, Benjamin,” she whispered.
“I know,” he replied.
“We’ve just met,” she sighed.
“I love you.”
“Do you love me?”
Benjamin could hardly wrap his head around this feeling. His heart, for the first time, fluttered at her touch. Had it been her near brush with death? His? Their mutual sickness? The joy in her eyes as she blew out her daughter’s candles? The joy in his when she took him in her arms? Benjamin could not be sure of the process, but he had found the answer.
Okay, I feel way too sappy for my own liking. I’m too much of a romantic for my own good.
In the morning, he was hers, and she his.
More sex! Pregnancies! Jealousy! And hopefully werewolves!
I conclude with this.
Blair, you’re starting to scare me a little. Those flames are reserved for Bridget.
Thanks for reading!