Status: Updates Eventually.
It's Been a While
2,300 Cookies
“So, when’s the wedding?” Brendon was scarfing down the eggs that had just been set on the table. He’d always had a big appetite. “And what color are the bridesmaids’ dresses? Silver doesn’t flatter me.”
“Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer something more along the lines of groomsman?” I asked cautiously. “I mean, I already have two bridesmaids, and it’s just..”
“Fine, fine. I see how it is. I’ll take groomsman if I can wear an orange tuxedo and a purple bow tie.”
“White bowtie with black polka dots, walk with a cane and a monacle and you’ve got yourself a deal.”
“Whoo! I’mma be a dapper bastard!”
“Yeah, yeah. And a cocky one, too. The wedding is in two weeks. We’re having it in the backyard, due to the low standards of America’s piloting institutions. And you, Mr. Dapper Bastard, are playing a set. I, however, choose your setlist. AKA, no Lying is the Most Fun.”
“UGH. But I could give every guy in the room a bo-“
“Brendon, I need you over here,” Becca passed by and gracefully dragged a tripping Brendon behind her to the kitchen. “I’m making cookies for the wedding because our baker was rude and insulted the steampunk top hat I wore into his shop.” Brendon gasped. “I know, right? Anyway, I need you to measure flour for me.”
“How many cookies are we talking?”
“Like 2,300. It’ll be fine. I’ve had bigger jobs. Measuremeasuremeasuremeasuremeasuremeasure!”
“Got a bigger bowl?”
“Nope!”
The next day, we all went into the dress shop for final fittings. My dress was taken up a few inches and pulled in at the chest, since I was not visited by the Queen of Heights, nor hit terribly hard with the Boob Stick. Gillian’s dress, on the other hand, fit fine. Now I just had to put myself in charge of making meals for the next two weeks so none of us gained or lost any weight. God, the wedding was getting closer.
Three days later, we were all sitting on the couch watching some terrible film adaptation of a Stephen King novel. Aiden was poking my leg repeatedly, and each time I reciprocated with a poke to the hip, which he flinched at every time. Then, he spontaneously grabbed me by the waist.
“I’m bored. Dinner. Now.” He grabbed the keys and led me out the front door.
Talk about spontaneous. I shut the door behind us, as I heard a collective “Awwwww” from the living room.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer something more along the lines of groomsman?” I asked cautiously. “I mean, I already have two bridesmaids, and it’s just..”
“Fine, fine. I see how it is. I’ll take groomsman if I can wear an orange tuxedo and a purple bow tie.”
“White bowtie with black polka dots, walk with a cane and a monacle and you’ve got yourself a deal.”
“Whoo! I’mma be a dapper bastard!”
“Yeah, yeah. And a cocky one, too. The wedding is in two weeks. We’re having it in the backyard, due to the low standards of America’s piloting institutions. And you, Mr. Dapper Bastard, are playing a set. I, however, choose your setlist. AKA, no Lying is the Most Fun.”
“UGH. But I could give every guy in the room a bo-“
“Brendon, I need you over here,” Becca passed by and gracefully dragged a tripping Brendon behind her to the kitchen. “I’m making cookies for the wedding because our baker was rude and insulted the steampunk top hat I wore into his shop.” Brendon gasped. “I know, right? Anyway, I need you to measure flour for me.”
“How many cookies are we talking?”
“Like 2,300. It’ll be fine. I’ve had bigger jobs. Measuremeasuremeasuremeasuremeasuremeasure!”
“Got a bigger bowl?”
“Nope!”
The next day, we all went into the dress shop for final fittings. My dress was taken up a few inches and pulled in at the chest, since I was not visited by the Queen of Heights, nor hit terribly hard with the Boob Stick. Gillian’s dress, on the other hand, fit fine. Now I just had to put myself in charge of making meals for the next two weeks so none of us gained or lost any weight. God, the wedding was getting closer.
Three days later, we were all sitting on the couch watching some terrible film adaptation of a Stephen King novel. Aiden was poking my leg repeatedly, and each time I reciprocated with a poke to the hip, which he flinched at every time. Then, he spontaneously grabbed me by the waist.
“I’m bored. Dinner. Now.” He grabbed the keys and led me out the front door.
Talk about spontaneous. I shut the door behind us, as I heard a collective “Awwwww” from the living room.