For WMC Day. For those who still love it. But especially for B, who just can’t quit it 🙂
And obviously I don’t own any of it. Except for the parts that I do.
We knew better than to stop again, but it was easier said than done. In the center of the room, as we snuck behind the redhead in the wheelchair, she did a sudden spin that took her wheel directly over Claire’s foot.
“Ahhhh,” Claire cried out, reaching down toward the appendage.
“I am so sorry.” The redhead stopped turning instantly, reaching for Claire. “I never do anything like this. I just wanted to prove to them that I could maneuver as well in this chair as anyone on foot.”
She motioned to the fake-Italian and real-Brit, who waved conspiratorially.
“Well, you certainly do know how to take someone out in it,” I joked, and Claire shot me an evil eye as if I’d stomped her myself.
“What can I say?” the redhead returned. “Taking people out is kind of my specialty.”
“Barbara,” the younger feline-woman appeared out of nowhere. “You told them?”
“Yeah,” I joked. “She’s obviously a superhero.”
“Barbara!” the feline-woman exclaimed. “Seriously? All that talk about secret identities…”
“Helena,” Barbara stated firmly.
“And secret lairs…”
The redhead’s eyes widened with every word, but she didn’t bother trying to cut Helena off again.
“And you’re just going to tell everyone at a party that you’re a superhero?” Helena finally finished herself.
I felt my mouth fall open, and glanced at the real-Brit and fake-Italian, both of whom looked as if they were fish out of water as well.
“Spent too much time in the kitchen again, didn’t you?” Barbara asked.
“What?” Helena returned.
“You know,” Barbara verbally nudged. “Making muffin tops.”
“Oh,” Helena glanced around. “Oh! Right! Muffin tops. Wooh, way too much time in front of a hot oven. I don’t know what I’m thinking.”
“You don’t look like a baker,” the real-Brit declared.
“Thanks,” Helena flashed a dazzling smile, before glancing at the stern redhead and turning shamefaced. “I mean, you don’t have to look the part to make a kickass bakery item. Right, Barbara?”
“Right, Helena,” Barbara almost smiled, and the feline-woman finally succeeded in winding her way onto Barbara’s lap.
“We’ll just leave you all to it,” Claire said hastily and we were off again.
Turning toward the door, Claire and I bore down on it, like bulls running at red. Until someone stepped into the path.
“Alicia Florrick,” I growled.
“Were we finished?” she countered.
“Just say yes, Jill,” Claire instructed.
“No, we weren’t,” I replied.
I opened my mouth to launch into my opening argument when I felt an acute knock from behind.
Then, there was nothing.