Fic. I write fic.
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Title: Coupe des Mousquetaires
Characters: Mirka, Roger, Myla (mention of Rafa)
Rated: G
Notes: Dootsiez makes a Myla poop reference and this is where it took me. Ummm, sorry?
Somewhere, in a hotel in Madrid...
Mirka enters the main room of the hotel, wearing a fluffy bathrobe and toweling at her hair. Roger is bent over a crib, fidgeting with his phone. As soon as Mirka enters, he jolts upright, fumbles and drops the phone. He has a 'deer in the headlights' look of panic on his face.
"Oh that was just what I needed! What did you want to do for supper?" She sees Roger's look of guilt and watches as the phone hits the floor.
"Oh!", Roger exclaims, trying to look innocent. "You took a fast shower! I told you to take your time and I would watch the girls and now you are done and..."
Mirka puts her hands on her hips and scowls at him. "Roger (no middle name) Federer! Were you taking pictures of Myla's poop again? AND DON'T LIE TO ME!"
Roger begins to look sheepish and runs a hand through his hair. "Well, but you see... it looked like... that is... you remember Australia, right? The night before the finals she had a dirty nappy and the shape of her poop was exactly like the trophy cup! And I won Australia. I did!"
He looks trimuphunt, not realizing that he has just signed his death warrant. He bends down and picks up his phone. He holds it up to Mirka. "See? Look what she did... it's the Coupe des Mousquetaires! I'm going to win the French Open again!"
He waves the phone at her and she snatches it from his hand. She examines the picture carefully. She lets out a long suffering sigh. The kind of sigh that all sane women must let out when confronted with a totally idiotic man who thinks his baby's poop can predict the future.
"It's a pile of baby poop, Roger. IT'S POOP!"
Mirka begins pressing buttons on the phone. Roger panics and grabs for it. Too late! She has deleted the picture. She also finds the file folder "MylaPoo" and deletes all of its contents. Roger is devastated.
While Mirka is holding the phone it begins to ring. The ringtone, Viva Espana, alerts her that it is Rafa Nadal. Roger grabs for the phone in desperation.
"Mirka! Please, it's just Rafa. Let me take the call please!"
No way. She puts up a finger of warning and glares at him. He backs down like a reprimanded child.
Rafa has sent a text message: "Hola Rogelio thank you for send me the poop. You say the last one look like trophy for Estoril but it look like crap to me and you play like crap at tournament! HAHAHAHA! I kidding. but you no going to win French I don't care what Myla's poop tell you."
Roger is slinking towards the door, ready to make his escape.
"You sent pictures of our baby's poop to Rafa? You are in so much trouble!"
She begins to throw things at him... his phone, a baby rattle, a box of baby wipes....
Meanwhile, Myla coo's and smiles and fills her diaper with a perfect rendition of the Wimbledon Trophy.
~ end ~
* * * *
Title: Coupe des Mousquetaires
Characters: Mirka, Roger, Myla (mention of Rafa)
Rated: G
Notes: Dootsiez makes a Myla poop reference and this is where it took me. Ummm, sorry?
Somewhere, in a hotel in Madrid...
Mirka enters the main room of the hotel, wearing a fluffy bathrobe and toweling at her hair. Roger is bent over a crib, fidgeting with his phone. As soon as Mirka enters, he jolts upright, fumbles and drops the phone. He has a 'deer in the headlights' look of panic on his face.
"Oh that was just what I needed! What did you want to do for supper?" She sees Roger's look of guilt and watches as the phone hits the floor.
"Oh!", Roger exclaims, trying to look innocent. "You took a fast shower! I told you to take your time and I would watch the girls and now you are done and..."
Mirka puts her hands on her hips and scowls at him. "Roger (no middle name) Federer! Were you taking pictures of Myla's poop again? AND DON'T LIE TO ME!"
Roger begins to look sheepish and runs a hand through his hair. "Well, but you see... it looked like... that is... you remember Australia, right? The night before the finals she had a dirty nappy and the shape of her poop was exactly like the trophy cup! And I won Australia. I did!"
He looks trimuphunt, not realizing that he has just signed his death warrant. He bends down and picks up his phone. He holds it up to Mirka. "See? Look what she did... it's the Coupe des Mousquetaires! I'm going to win the French Open again!"
He waves the phone at her and she snatches it from his hand. She examines the picture carefully. She lets out a long suffering sigh. The kind of sigh that all sane women must let out when confronted with a totally idiotic man who thinks his baby's poop can predict the future.
"It's a pile of baby poop, Roger. IT'S POOP!"
Mirka begins pressing buttons on the phone. Roger panics and grabs for it. Too late! She has deleted the picture. She also finds the file folder "MylaPoo" and deletes all of its contents. Roger is devastated.
While Mirka is holding the phone it begins to ring. The ringtone, Viva Espana, alerts her that it is Rafa Nadal. Roger grabs for the phone in desperation.
"Mirka! Please, it's just Rafa. Let me take the call please!"
No way. She puts up a finger of warning and glares at him. He backs down like a reprimanded child.
Rafa has sent a text message: "Hola Rogelio thank you for send me the poop. You say the last one look like trophy for Estoril but it look like crap to me and you play like crap at tournament! HAHAHAHA! I kidding. but you no going to win French I don't care what Myla's poop tell you."
Roger is slinking towards the door, ready to make his escape.
"You sent pictures of our baby's poop to Rafa? You are in so much trouble!"
She begins to throw things at him... his phone, a baby rattle, a box of baby wipes....
Meanwhile, Myla coo's and smiles and fills her diaper with a perfect rendition of the Wimbledon Trophy.
~ end ~
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