The Shiny Happy Comment Ficathon!
Winter is coming; daylight is fleeting; for the students among us, end-of-semester hell is just about to rear its ugly head. What better way to combat such woes than with a super-cheerful comment ficathon?
Ergo:
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Ergo:
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"Trying too hard to be masculine," she said firmly. "And I don't fall for accents just because they sound exotic compared to what I'm used to. I spent a lot of time in New York."
Jeff dropped his textbook closed, and growled, "I was ignoring the inanities until you compounded them with your hypocrisy. Britta, first of all, Russell Crowe is Australian, and secondly, all women are suckers for some accent. Maybe not every accent, but at least one of them. For you-" He tapped his chin as if considering her with therapeutic insight. "British, definitely. Hugh Grant, Hugh Laurie, all the Hughs; they could have you swooning all over their big ears and teeth inside three syllables!"
The blond's nose wrinkled up like a Shar Pei,as she scowled. "Unlike most women, I am immune to an English accent. It's English, it's what I hear around me all the time - what's sexy about that? It's not the accent, it's the words that attract me."
That set off everyone on tangents of their own, mostly true confessions of arousal to James Earle Jones telephone company commercials. Jeff had to use his pimp hand of silence to get the study group to order. But it wasn't over.
"Talk to her about dolphins," he told Ian, gesturing wildly to keep the teacher's attention. "Yeah, yeah, dolphins, but at the same time, you order the tuna - and don't ask if it's dolphin-friendly, just order it anyway. Order it in your snide, nasal twang of a sissy-voice, and watch her ignore her vaunted ideals AND your weak-jawed weasel face!"
The expatriated Brit cringed so many times his face stuck that way a little, which helped nothing. Britta was so going to eat her words, Jeff thought to himself. She was going to have to answer for a thousand claims without any legs to stand on. She was going to have to own up to her own multitude of flaws.
"I was more confident before your pep-talk," Ian said faintly, obviously trying not to be nasal or sissy.
"Oh, just go!"
Jeff pushed him into the cafeteria line, ignoring all the dirty looks it earned him. Some things were worth more than comfort and ease. Some things mattered - like tearing down the so-called ideals of a nonconformist conformist. Britta turned to see who had stumbled against her, and took the apology nicely enough.
"It's okay," she said.
"I, uh, that is - I am having the tuna," Ian said loudly. "And I'm not going to even ask if it's dolphin-friendly."
Her blond head bobbed with hateful curls bouncing. "Why should you, with companies usurping the dolphin-friendly seal by getting their tuna from overseas fishermen who make less then a penny a pound," she sniffed. "And I can tell you, for that kind of money, those poor fishers can't afford to buy environmentally friendly gear."
Her bright smile up at Ian gave him the opening for another comment, so he struggled for it in the depths of his brain. "And I don't see how cleaning up the BP oil spill will fix things when just about everyone owns a car," he ventured uncertainly. "Fossil fuels!"
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