I have to admit, I felt pretty bad that I write more to my "Multifaceted" story this week, and with the prompting of my friend Arnold*, I dug deep and pulled out a little more. For those of you who liked those characters, here they are, a little different, a little skewed, and a little more developed. I hope you enjoy.
“Perplexed”
I walked into the kitchen and you would have thought I had stepped into a war zone the way she looked at me with fear blazing in her eyes. She stood, crouched into a vertical fetal position, armed with a bottle of Windex in one hand and a faded brown flip flop in the other. If I didn’t know her better, and what she could do to me with that flip flop and Windex, I’d have laughed in her face.
I’m a tough guy, but even I wouldn’t incur the wrath that is she when she feels backed into a corner. Or, in this case, onto our dining room chair.
The scene is ridiculously hilarious, but more so if you knew just how far she would go to be brave. She’s so strong, independent, that one might wonder what happened to her to turn her out this way. She is smart, so smart. She uses words I’ve never even heard of, much less can pronounce, and she says them with a confidence that lets you know that she means business. She’s the girl who can fix her own car, her own computer, and her own mistakes. She doesn’t need anyone’s help or anyone’s pity. She handles whatever comes at her with finesse and determination. She can’t be intimidated, provoked, or dissuade from getting what she wants.
She’s no pink-glitter-hugs-and-unicorns kind of girl; she’ll kick your ass if you get in her way.
And yet, here she is, the love of my life, standing on a chair across from our kitchen, about to go to war with cleaning materials and accessories.
“Baby?” I asked, tenderly, uneasy as to how I should proceed with her.
“Jesus H. Christ,” she said, as she started to unfold herself from her attack position. “I can’t take this. Where have you been? Don’t you know it’s your job to ki—aaaah!”
Just as she was about to come down from the chair, I heard a loud screeching sound come from the kitchen, which had her back up on her perch, armed and dangerous.
I recognized the sound but couldn’t place it; it was not where it should be. I turned to see what it was, and recognized it immediately.
My badass girlfriend was afraid of a cricket.
“Don’t just stand there,” she practically screamed, “get it!”
“Relax…. Seriously…. Relax,” I said, and almost immediately knew this was the wrong thing to say. Me and my big, unfiltered mouth.
“Relax? Relax? Don’t tell me to relax!”
Uh oh.
“I don’t know who you think you are trying to tell me to relax but I have been here in a god damn panic for nearly an hour trying to figure out what the hell to do with this thing! I tried to kill it and it jumped up and smacked me clear in the face and I almost had a seizure. I thought about hiding into the bathroom until it just disappeared but what would I do if it crawled under the door and came in with me!?! Where would I go then? Can crickets crawl? I don’t know, but I can’t take this. Just help me, okay?”
It’s times like these that I fall for her harder.
“Why don’t you get down from there,” I said, pulling out my wallet and handing her a twenty. “You can leave your weapons with me. We’ll get your things from the other room, and you can go get us some coffee. I’ll have everything taken care of by the time that you get back. Does that sound good?”
What I really want to say to her is "Grow the hell up! Just because I'm the man doesn't mean I wanna do this any more than you do! Where are my friggin' rights?"
But, I don't, because let's face it, that'll never work.
Anyway, she's finally coming out of panic-mode.
“Okay, yeah, that sounds great.”
“Good, okay.”
I followed her through the house and walked her to the door, hoping that she wouldn’t have another panic attack in the time it took to gather her crap and get out of the house. I watched her pull out of the driveway and around the corner before I shut the front door.
I leaned against the door and knew I was in trouble.
I’m petrified of crickets, too. What the hell am I going to do?
I walked into the kitchen and you would have thought I had stepped into a war zone the way she looked at me with fear blazing in her eyes. She stood, crouched into a vertical fetal position, armed with a bottle of Windex in one hand and a faded brown flip flop in the other. If I didn’t know her better, and what she could do to me with that flip flop and Windex, I’d have laughed in her face.
I’m a tough guy, but even I wouldn’t incur the wrath that is she when she feels backed into a corner. Or, in this case, onto our dining room chair.
The scene is ridiculously hilarious, but more so if you knew just how far she would go to be brave. She’s so strong, independent, that one might wonder what happened to her to turn her out this way. She is smart, so smart. She uses words I’ve never even heard of, much less can pronounce, and she says them with a confidence that lets you know that she means business. She’s the girl who can fix her own car, her own computer, and her own mistakes. She doesn’t need anyone’s help or anyone’s pity. She handles whatever comes at her with finesse and determination. She can’t be intimidated, provoked, or dissuade from getting what she wants.
She’s no pink-glitter-hugs-and-unicorns kind of girl; she’ll kick your ass if you get in her way.
And yet, here she is, the love of my life, standing on a chair across from our kitchen, about to go to war with cleaning materials and accessories.
“Baby?” I asked, tenderly, uneasy as to how I should proceed with her.
“Jesus H. Christ,” she said, as she started to unfold herself from her attack position. “I can’t take this. Where have you been? Don’t you know it’s your job to ki—aaaah!”
Just as she was about to come down from the chair, I heard a loud screeching sound come from the kitchen, which had her back up on her perch, armed and dangerous.
I recognized the sound but couldn’t place it; it was not where it should be. I turned to see what it was, and recognized it immediately.
My badass girlfriend was afraid of a cricket.
“Don’t just stand there,” she practically screamed, “get it!”
“Relax…. Seriously…. Relax,” I said, and almost immediately knew this was the wrong thing to say. Me and my big, unfiltered mouth.
“Relax? Relax? Don’t tell me to relax!”
Uh oh.
“I don’t know who you think you are trying to tell me to relax but I have been here in a god damn panic for nearly an hour trying to figure out what the hell to do with this thing! I tried to kill it and it jumped up and smacked me clear in the face and I almost had a seizure. I thought about hiding into the bathroom until it just disappeared but what would I do if it crawled under the door and came in with me!?! Where would I go then? Can crickets crawl? I don’t know, but I can’t take this. Just help me, okay?”
It’s times like these that I fall for her harder.
“Why don’t you get down from there,” I said, pulling out my wallet and handing her a twenty. “You can leave your weapons with me. We’ll get your things from the other room, and you can go get us some coffee. I’ll have everything taken care of by the time that you get back. Does that sound good?”
What I really want to say to her is "Grow the hell up! Just because I'm the man doesn't mean I wanna do this any more than you do! Where are my friggin' rights?"
But, I don't, because let's face it, that'll never work.
Anyway, she's finally coming out of panic-mode.
“Okay, yeah, that sounds great.”
“Good, okay.”
I followed her through the house and walked her to the door, hoping that she wouldn’t have another panic attack in the time it took to gather her crap and get out of the house. I watched her pull out of the driveway and around the corner before I shut the front door.
I leaned against the door and knew I was in trouble.
I’m petrified of crickets, too. What the hell am I going to do?
***
I hope you liked this, too. Arnold wants me to keep going with it, so I'm going to give it more time and effort this week, and maybe I'll have something new for you guys that isn't a rant and rave about stupid people I meet at work. <3
*Arnold is not actually her name. But, I find it hilarious, so I go with it. :)
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