FicWad

I knew Frank had truly taken to his role of personal trainer when he replaced my alarm clock with himself. Still, an early morning jovial cry from the kitchen of -

“Oooh, SMOOTHIES! LET’S GET SMOOTH! Mhm, that’s some good Momma’s cookin’ right there.”

Is a bit better than my old “Good morning. It is time to wake up now. Please, have a good day, whatever you’re doing. Thank you.”

Smoothies, I am told, are the only way to lose weight. According to Frank, they are your three square meals a day in liquidized form, so you have more time to “y’know, run around and, y’know, do other shit. Burn calories. Shop for leotards. Y’know.”

“SMOOTH OPERATOR. Oh, I am one smooth operator. Smoothy-smooth-smooth.” He cackled deliriously. “Backwards it’s HTOOMS. Htoooooooms, rotarepo. Ha! It still fits into the song. HTOOMS ROTAREPO.”

I did not sign up for being force fed a full English breakfast in a cup. And he got it all in there all right. Two slices of bacon wedged around a mountain of eggs, decorated by a suggestively placed sausage. I took it from him reluctantly, trying not to get the shitty looking brown liquid that was dripping from the polystyrene cup on my tracksuit.

“Sorry, I couldn’t get the toast in there, it wouldn’t mash up right in the blender so I tried chewing it but it tasted a bit funny so I just sprinkled the crumbs instead…” He shut up once he caught my glare. His eyes lit up. “But I got the coffee just how you like it!”

Thanks Scooby, but the mystery of the Shitty Liquid has been solved. Give the gang my regards and tell them to have a merry, merry, Unbirthday.

“You don’t actually expect me to put this in my mouth, do you?” I asked, half-laughing.

“Uh…yeah? That’s why I slaved away for hours in that kitchen. Do you know how hard it was to find the “On” switch on your blender? Then I had to cook everything and shit. I had to make sure the eggs didn’t burn in the microwave AND chop the onions. Multitasking isn’t even one of my strong points! Now I know how it feels to be your mother, Gerard. Don’t be so ungrateful.”

He was so peeved that I didn’t think it wise to mention that my mother would never wear a “Sexy Lady” apron over a grey velour tracksuit. Whilst carrying a spatula.

“Oh, I’m joking old bean. I would be delighted to taste the fruits of your efforts.” The things I do for love, really. I should get an “Admirer of the Year” award, but sadly, I would have to invent it first. Too bad I’m too lazy. Well, you can’t say I didn’t try. Or you could. Whatever sinks your ship. I tipped the contents of the cup into my mouth and tried to get it down as quickly as possible.

“There now, that’s a good boy!” He cooed, patting my head. “There’ll be sweets for you later, sonny boy Jim laddy boy.” I know, I’ve always had a strange taste in men. But he’s really, really cute. So what if he’s a bit mad? That just adds to the cute-fest. Cute cute cute. Like a really sexy Bambi.

Ew. Bambi in suspenders.

“Well…? Does it taste good?” Ah. Frank in suspenders. That’s a whole lot more pleasant.

“Mmmmmm!” I replied. Just a good old, noncommittal mmmmmmm.

“Good. Now, dear. Get your spandex together. Mom and her friends are meeting us at the gym. Now they’ll REALLY know what to do.”

Fuck it, that Admirer award is mine.

**

What will our heroes be doing at the gym?
Will Gerard ever digest his breakfast, and will he ever find his spandex?
Stay tuned until NEXT YEAR, when I’ll finally get round to updating.

I’m starting to face up to the fact that this story will never really have a proper plot.

Comment-operated girl,
Sitting on the shelf,
She is not a toy,
Comments turn her on,
And she comes to life,
Automatic joy,
That is what she wants,
A
Comment
Operated
Girl.