hypothetically speaking
hypothetically speaking a really quick one-off inspired by the new promo and "Humperdorf babies are cuter. the girls are vipers and the boys stammer. i' m lying. i have never pictured their babies...ok...maybe one girl. who will be as demanding as her mother, while Humphrey, attempts to keep her unspoiled (she secretly likes going to coney island and slumming it with her pops, they don't tell blair. she's worried about the germs there"-jb41. i thought i'd see an explosion of fic to go along with the squee.
pg, 557 words
If they had mornings they’d be like this-
He’d climb up her body like a ritual while she buries her face in the pillows, thinning her lips and whipping her head about, attempting to stem the tide of events she obviously didn’t find funny, before he eventually finds her mouth, kissing her, proclaiming “everyone has it.” And making her real.
She’d frown, ruefully kick up the sheets and pad off to the bathroom, making sure to slam the door.
“God! It’s just- unhygenic!” would make its way around the toothbrush in her mouth.
If they dealt with her parents it’d go like this-
Eleanor would call him David, toss a wave when asked to correct it, and ask questions she knew the answers to like, and what do you plan to do with that degree, horrifically explain over a quiet table of a large dinner party- which fork he should use.
He would brush off most of her bad behavior with a sly comment (under breath) and comically ask about antitrust laws and illegal tax shelters while everyone gathers for brandy in the parlor, causing all her friends to shift uncomfortably in their seats. Touché.
If they dealt with his parents it’d go like this-
She’d lift her eyebrows too high and smile too tightly at his father’s retelling of a story from the glory days or over the forced participation of a Humphrey “tradition”, to ever be seen as genuine, oh yay, only serve to emphasize her pained efforts of “trying”. What is with all the waffles?! That many carbs cannot be good for your digestive system.
His Dad would dodge her questions of mild curiosity that sounded too much like insults. Smile only for Dan’s sake at the petite princess’ ridiculous suggestion that they go bowling, isn’t that what your people do?
If they fight in college it’s because of this-
“Don’t! Don’t do that!” he’d yell. “You are the smartest girl I know! Don’t-don’t make yourself less for them!”
She’d clutch the pledge pin she’d forgotten in her hand, defiantly stomp the ground, and scream back, eyes welling up from humiliation and exhaustion. He didn’t understand, and he can’t use that against her.
He’d reach out with his gangly limbs and fold her into his flannel covered chest, while she stumbled on her heels, said he smells of work (it has a smell), whisper a response into her hair, fighting as much for her as with her.
But she’d break his hold; level him with a glare and spit, “you will never get it,” …snarl practically.
And he’d nod and walk away.
If she seeks forgiveness it goes something like this-
“I missed class on Tuesday and come to find out that we’re doing a critical analysis of Goethe’s Faust and his contribution to the North American school of thought on comparative literature and literary criticism and I’ve got the first one done and I remember you citing something of his the other day in one of your boring, rambling speeches on romanticism and humanism and it’s not like you have a life so I figure you have the other one covered so how about it, Humphrey?”
Blink.
“Are you going to help me or not? I’m not begging.”
Blink.Blink.
"Fine I’ll-"
He'd kiss her and she'd taste like bitter coffee and a bit of mint. And neither would say they were sorry.
If she ever wore ill fitting clothes-
It's because they're his, after he mentioned he loved it. And its because she's indoors (her house or his) in the hazy twilight or the slow creep of dawn. Flitting from rooms in a cuffed dress shirt or threadbare tee, bare legs, wool socks.
If he ever proposed-
She’d make him do it again. But better this time.
If they ever had a child-
She'd be 5 pounds 9 ounces and demand everything within site. Graduating from a wail to big girl words like, want, mine, now.
pg, 557 words
If they had mornings they’d be like this-
He’d climb up her body like a ritual while she buries her face in the pillows, thinning her lips and whipping her head about, attempting to stem the tide of events she obviously didn’t find funny, before he eventually finds her mouth, kissing her, proclaiming “everyone has it.” And making her real.
She’d frown, ruefully kick up the sheets and pad off to the bathroom, making sure to slam the door.
“God! It’s just- unhygenic!” would make its way around the toothbrush in her mouth.
If they dealt with her parents it’d go like this-
Eleanor would call him David, toss a wave when asked to correct it, and ask questions she knew the answers to like, and what do you plan to do with that degree, horrifically explain over a quiet table of a large dinner party- which fork he should use.
He would brush off most of her bad behavior with a sly comment (under breath) and comically ask about antitrust laws and illegal tax shelters while everyone gathers for brandy in the parlor, causing all her friends to shift uncomfortably in their seats. Touché.
If they dealt with his parents it’d go like this-
She’d lift her eyebrows too high and smile too tightly at his father’s retelling of a story from the glory days or over the forced participation of a Humphrey “tradition”, to ever be seen as genuine, oh yay, only serve to emphasize her pained efforts of “trying”. What is with all the waffles?! That many carbs cannot be good for your digestive system.
His Dad would dodge her questions of mild curiosity that sounded too much like insults. Smile only for Dan’s sake at the petite princess’ ridiculous suggestion that they go bowling, isn’t that what your people do?
If they fight in college it’s because of this-
“Don’t! Don’t do that!” he’d yell. “You are the smartest girl I know! Don’t-don’t make yourself less for them!”
She’d clutch the pledge pin she’d forgotten in her hand, defiantly stomp the ground, and scream back, eyes welling up from humiliation and exhaustion. He didn’t understand, and he can’t use that against her.
He’d reach out with his gangly limbs and fold her into his flannel covered chest, while she stumbled on her heels, said he smells of work (it has a smell), whisper a response into her hair, fighting as much for her as with her.
But she’d break his hold; level him with a glare and spit, “you will never get it,” …snarl practically.
And he’d nod and walk away.
If she seeks forgiveness it goes something like this-
“I missed class on Tuesday and come to find out that we’re doing a critical analysis of Goethe’s Faust and his contribution to the North American school of thought on comparative literature and literary criticism and I’ve got the first one done and I remember you citing something of his the other day in one of your boring, rambling speeches on romanticism and humanism and it’s not like you have a life so I figure you have the other one covered so how about it, Humphrey?”
Blink.
“Are you going to help me or not? I’m not begging.”
Blink.Blink.
"Fine I’ll-"
He'd kiss her and she'd taste like bitter coffee and a bit of mint. And neither would say they were sorry.
If she ever wore ill fitting clothes-
It's because they're his, after he mentioned he loved it. And its because she's indoors (her house or his) in the hazy twilight or the slow creep of dawn. Flitting from rooms in a cuffed dress shirt or threadbare tee, bare legs, wool socks.
If he ever proposed-
She’d make him do it again. But better this time.
If they ever had a child-
She'd be 5 pounds 9 ounces and demand everything within site. Graduating from a wail to big girl words like, want, mine, now.