Fictionlet
Greg was having fun in the kitchen and whistling something zippy by Wolfgang Ama-D when the smell of frying egg and ham brought the usual specter of Brigid shuffling out into the common area, blinking her little raisin morning-eyes and regarding every wall or piece of furniture as something strange and full of menace.
“Well, well, she lives!” Greg chirped. “How did your big date with, what’s-his-hame — Gary? — go?”
“Gary’s the name he goes by to make life easy,” Brigid said, gently easing herself down onto a barstool. “His real name is something unpronounceable and Lithuanian.”
“Ah,” said Greg, and added two more eggs to the pan. “Well, how did your big date with Something Unpronounceable and Lithuanian go?”
“You remember how I promised myself I wasn’t going to have sex on the first date?” Brigid said.
“Yes?”
“Well, I kept it.”
“Tsk! Poor thing. Have some apple juice.”
“That’s supposed to be consoling, is it?”
“Absolutely,” said Greg. “Orange juice would have been too acidic.”
-The Gneech
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