1-5: Coughing Up Rings

Whelp, apparently I have a very busy weekend ahead of me, so I’ll be updating maaybe. I play as far as I update, so unless I can squirrel away some late night Simming hours, this weekend might be a lonely one for the Belues.

I might get suckered into some Dragon Age: Origins again, though.

ALISTAAAIR!

Enough with the fangirling. Back to the Belues.

COUGH COUGH COUGH

COUGH COUGH COUGH

The Belue household had become overwhelmingly loud.

After Bridget and Benjamin had put the eggplant in the blender, each began to notice that their illnesses were becoming progressively worse. The windows shook as they hacked the night, and eventually the morning, away. “In what sick world does a man step on a cockroach and contract whooping cough?” complained Benjamin, nose in an incredibly boring book. The  book had been written by a man whose every new book consisted of the same plot as the one before it. Boy meets girl, boy and girl fall in love, one of the two or a close relative contracts a terminal illness and dies, tragic, boring ending. Benjamin shivered; while it was all dull and the same, it did bear some uncanny resemblances to his life at the moment. His life, however, thought Benjamin, would make a much better book. He fancied himself much more interesting than this angst-slave war hero.

Deciding he did not care for whether or not the soldier was able to save his relationship with a naive philanthropist before her husband was in the morgue, Benjamin tossed the book to the floor beside him. “What do you think, Bridget?”

The question brought on such a coughing fit that tiny tremors shuddered through the floor.

With all of the ruckus in the room next door, Blair had a very difficult time sleeping. For her birthday, Bridget had bought her an easel, and now seemed like a very good time to let her creative juices flow. She painted through the night and into the next morning. Her hopes and dreams danced onto the canvas.

“Mom? Can I have a pony?”

“Not until the Sims 3, dear.”

There was an awkward pause.

“Blair, I think that’s a llama..”

With both her mother and stepfather out of commission, Blair set out to aid the much neglected furniture. Gripping the sponge tightly, she sighed. It was tough being a kid. Toddlers didn’t have to look after their parents.

After finishing the kitchen, Blair retreated to the outdoors, and proceeded to sweep cockroach ashes from the lawn.

“I can’t believe I grew up for this,” moaned Blair.

I hadn’t realized how amazing it is to have a neat kid in the family. Poor Blair, she’s basically become the maid around the house, what with her parents sick and lazy as teenage boys on dope and all.

Chores completed. Blair supposed she should try another adult action. She seen Bridget read the newspaper once before, and figured that she was old enough to try this, too. She flipped to a page in the back.

“Yerawisser Harry, dead at age 87. His family and massive hound will miss him dearly. Youcant Siwitus, dead at age 16. She should have never stabbed Caesar,” read Blair aloud. She yawned. “Wow, this old people stuff is really boring.”

That’s more like it. Glad to see you acting your age, Blair.

Coughing having subsided, Bridget ventured to the front porch. She shooed Blair out quickly. The flu was highly contagious. She hoped she didn’t have the plague. That would be a sorry sight.

Now that Blair was a child, she really needed to start job hunting again. She wasn’t going to become Indiana Jones by sitting at home playing Betty Crocker, was she?

“They’re looking for a Lolo Jones, Chef Ramsay, and an Isaac Newton,” Bridget sighed. “I suppose I’ll start lunch.”

She stood up; her stomach began to whirl.

“Psh, I couldn’t be pregnant!” laughed Bridget. “How silly!”

Wild, unprotected sex could never get you pregnant! Pat yourself on the back, Bridget. You are one smart cookie.

Insides heaving, she sprinted to the toilet.

Hehehe, I’m afraid she just “blue” herself.

She was spewing blue. This could only mean one thing.

“Bridget, what’s that?” asked Benjamin nervously, scrubbing his knees. “I’ve never coughed up something like that before.”

“BLEEEEEH!”

Awh, she got it on the screen. 😦

“Disgusting,” sniffed Benjamin, returning to his washing. “Please be a dear and wash your face.”

She scrubbed her face vigorously, once she’d finally risen. Her bones ached. Sickness was never kind, she’d come to realize. She only hoped the disease wouldn’t hurt the baby.

The baby…she padded into their bedroom, falling to the bed. How was she to tell Benjamin? He’d be concerned, she knew. People would talk.

“DAMN IT!” shouted Benjamin.

He tiptoed into the bedroom to check on Bridget, vowing to return to the bathtub in a moment. While he didn’t like to admit it, her vomiting had worried him considerably. Blue was not a color that should be spewing out of someone’s mouth. Finding her asleep, however, he returned to the tub.

“I am a cat burglar, not a fucking repairman,” he muttered darkly. “I could be put to much better use than this. I’m no slave, no handyman, I live by my own rules, and my own rules don’t include fixing FUCKING BATHTUBS.”

“Benjamin?” asked Blair, appearing in the doorway. “Could you cook me some dinner? It appears I’m not old enough to reach the stove.”

“Sure thing,” said Benjamin, “as soon as I finish this FUCKING BATHTUB.”

Wisely, Blair retreated.

After many an angry hour, Benjamin laid down his wrench, and swirled up sandwiches. He joined Blair at the table after putting away the leftovers. Sitting down with a sigh, he said, “So if you’ve got any common sense, you must love milkshakes.”

“Nasty,” replied Blair, wrinkling her nose. “I like grilled cheese better. They’re so warm and delicious and..cheesy.”

Benjamin was taken aback. Bridget had certainly given birth to one insane child.

“I like picking locks,” stated Blair. “Locks are fun.”

“Locks are fun!” agreed Benjamin. “I fancy myself to be a Robin Hood of sorts.”

“Robin Hood didn’t wear stripes and a mask,” Blair narrowed her eyes. “When you get home from work, you look more like the burglar to me.”

“Modern day Robin Hood,” Benjamin corrected himself. “Stripes are very in style right now. I would know-my mother was a stylist.”

“What else do you like?” asked Blair.

A question for Blair had arisen on Benjamin’s mind, however.

“What has your mother taught you about sex? Do you know everything you need to know?”

“I know plenty,” snapped Blair, “I hear enough of it from your room at night, as is.”

Children sure grow up fast, Benjamin thought.

“Goodnight, Benjamin.”

In the meantime, Bridget was having a dilemma of her own.

“Do I marry him? Do I not marry him? Do I tell him about the baby? Do I not tell him about the baby? Oh, I love him so much! This is just breaking my heart!”

Oh, shut up, Bridget. This is the stupidest inner conflict I’ve seen since Joshua and the food in Troll 2.

“Hey, Benjamin? Can I see you in the bedroom?”

“MOM!” shouted Blair. “Again?!”

Benjamin arrived promptly. “How’re you feeling?”

“Better,” she smiled. “I wanted to say something.”

“Is it important?”

“Let’s get married now.”

“I love you,” Bridget said. “Forever and ever. Even though you can be a bit of a twat sometimes.”

“And I love you,” said Benjamin. “Even though sometimes you can be an air headed bitch.”

Awh, that is true love.

“You may kiss the bride!” shouted the nonexistent minister.

Their first kiss as a married couple, how sweet.

COUGH COUGH COUGH

COUGH COUGH COUGH

Well, what did you expect?

Next time…

Babies! Toddlers! Blair! Grilled cheese! And hopefully werewolves!

Also, I really hope this baby’s a boy. I want to name him Marvin or Bender. I can’t decide, but both would be awesome.

In conclusion:

Looks like that baby’s showing!