Fictionlet
Greg was off in his own world again, singing at the top of his lungs. “Kraaaaakatoa Katie, she ain’t no laaaady, when she starts to shake that saronnngg…”
Brigid frowned. “Excuse me, Terry Toons, but I’m trying to read, here.”
“Oh yes?” he said, “what are you reading?”
“None of your business,” she replied, hunkering down into the couch.
“You’ve interrupted my song,” he said, snatching the book. “That makes it my business!”
“Hey! Give that–”
“What in the world?” said Greg, staring sideways at the book in disbelief. “‘A Pirate’s Woman — The cold spray of the sea was nothing compared to the fire in her heart!'”
“Shaddap! Gimme my book!”
“Well, well, that’s one clean, well-groomed pirate, I must say,” he added, sizing up the shirtless specimen on the book’s cover. “What lovely pecs and deltoids he’s got — must come from swinging around in the rigging all day.” Brigid’s only response was an inarticulate growl; Greg lightly tossed the book back to her. “Honestly,” he said. “It doesn’t bother me that you’re reading a cheesy romance with a Chippendales model on the cover; what bothers me is that if I had some magazine swimsuit issue, you’d call me a sexist pig. It’s a double-standard, I tell you!”
“Shut up,” she said. “Go away!”
“Fine, I’ll leave you and the pirate prince to your revels,” he said, heading down the hallway and singing again. “Here he comes, that Mighty Mouse, just like a bolt from the blue, with a heaaaaart that’s truuuuee–!” The door closed, and he was gone.
“Jerk,” she snarled, and went back to her reading.
-The Gneech
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