Read Online Stupid and Contagious by Caprice Crane - Free Book Online
Authors: Caprice Crane
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under her mattress, he’d run for the hil s. That is some high-maintenance woman right there. I myself can sleep with al kinds of things under me, or around me. Like a remote . . . or a book
. . . or some recent magazines. Sometimes it’s easier to just leave things rather than move them. I remember one time I had so many things piled up al over my bed there was barely enough room for me to sleep in it. But I did it. Uncomfortably, sure. But I slept. And would have done it again the next night had Sydney not physical y removed said items when she came over the next morning to drag me out of bed for coffee. She was mortified by my very few inches of sleeping room. The point is: I am not high maintenance. At least not in the pea sense. In fact, not in most senses. Sure, I like my share of attention, but I’m pretty easygoing. For the most part.
Sydney and I go to Starbucks for our daily morning coffee get-together, and she is wearing a beret. This is Sydney’s newest attempt to deflect attention from what she perceives as a flat chest—some people have crosses to bear, this is Sydney’s.
“What is on your head?” I ask.
“Hair?” she quips.
“Okay, Monica.”
“Don’t give me that. I think it’s cute.”
“It’s not. Berets don’t look good on anyone. They’re stupid.”
“They are not,” she says, indignant. “I’m not letting Monica Lewinsky spoil it for me. Plus, you said you liked her. Didn’t you wait on her once?”
“She didn’t spoil anything. There was never anything remotely okay about wearing one. They’re awful. And yes, I liked her a lot. Very nice girl. And were she my friend back in the day, I wouldn’t have let her wear one either.”
She slurps her coffee, then stops mid-slurp. “What about Prince?”
“What about him?”
“‘Raspberry Beret’? You may recal a certain mega-hit about a certain fruit-colored chapeau?”
“You may recal the lyric? ‘A raspberry beret? The kind you find in a secondhand store’? That’s because they’ve been out of style so long that you can’t find them in a normal store. And because they are hideous.”
“So I’m supposed to believe that the entire country of France is wrong?” she says.
“Oh, don’t get me started on the French.”
“You’re just jealous I can pul it off,” she says, turning her face away.
“Sweetie, if anyone could pul it off, I promise it’s you. But a beret is not okay. And that even rhymes so you can remember it easier.”
“I like it, and I’m wearing it.”
“Okay then. Al you,” I say. She pouts for a minute and then takes the stupid thing off.
“Thank you.”
“You’re not welcome.”
“It’s only because I love you. I wouldn’t let you walk around with poppy seeds in your teeth. I wouldn’t let you walk around in jeans that made you look fat. And I wil not let you walk around in a beret. That is my credo. And so it is written.”
“And so it shal be done. And so you shal be buying our second round this morning due to al this unnecessary stress I’ve suffered.”
“Fine,” I say and go to the counter to order.
When I sit back down with our coffees, Sweet’n Low, and stirrers, I start in on my jerk neighbor and tel her what happened. What the hel kind of name is Brady, anyway? Sydney, of course, asks if he’s hot.
And no, he is not hot. She asks if he’s passable.
Again I tel her no. She’s asking because if he is, then one of us needs to date him. Even if he was, it certainly wouldn’t be me, and I wouldn’t let him have her either. We deserve perfect princes. And him? The wish-wrecking neighbor from hel ? He should end up with a trol .
“Oh! I didn’t tel you the latest,” she says. “I got set up on a blind date with this guy named Ed, and he kept making this face on our whole first date.”
“What kind of face?”
“He kept doing this ,” she says, making this fish face. She’s sticking her lips out like she’s either puckering up or making fish
. . . or some recent magazines. Sometimes it’s easier to just leave things rather than move them. I remember one time I had so many things piled up al over my bed there was barely enough room for me to sleep in it. But I did it. Uncomfortably, sure. But I slept. And would have done it again the next night had Sydney not physical y removed said items when she came over the next morning to drag me out of bed for coffee. She was mortified by my very few inches of sleeping room. The point is: I am not high maintenance. At least not in the pea sense. In fact, not in most senses. Sure, I like my share of attention, but I’m pretty easygoing. For the most part.
Sydney and I go to Starbucks for our daily morning coffee get-together, and she is wearing a beret. This is Sydney’s newest attempt to deflect attention from what she perceives as a flat chest—some people have crosses to bear, this is Sydney’s.
“What is on your head?” I ask.
“Hair?” she quips.
“Okay, Monica.”
“Don’t give me that. I think it’s cute.”
“It’s not. Berets don’t look good on anyone. They’re stupid.”
“They are not,” she says, indignant. “I’m not letting Monica Lewinsky spoil it for me. Plus, you said you liked her. Didn’t you wait on her once?”
“She didn’t spoil anything. There was never anything remotely okay about wearing one. They’re awful. And yes, I liked her a lot. Very nice girl. And were she my friend back in the day, I wouldn’t have let her wear one either.”
She slurps her coffee, then stops mid-slurp. “What about Prince?”
“What about him?”
“‘Raspberry Beret’? You may recal a certain mega-hit about a certain fruit-colored chapeau?”
“You may recal the lyric? ‘A raspberry beret? The kind you find in a secondhand store’? That’s because they’ve been out of style so long that you can’t find them in a normal store. And because they are hideous.”
“So I’m supposed to believe that the entire country of France is wrong?” she says.
“Oh, don’t get me started on the French.”
“You’re just jealous I can pul it off,” she says, turning her face away.
“Sweetie, if anyone could pul it off, I promise it’s you. But a beret is not okay. And that even rhymes so you can remember it easier.”
“I like it, and I’m wearing it.”
“Okay then. Al you,” I say. She pouts for a minute and then takes the stupid thing off.
“Thank you.”
“You’re not welcome.”
“It’s only because I love you. I wouldn’t let you walk around with poppy seeds in your teeth. I wouldn’t let you walk around in jeans that made you look fat. And I wil not let you walk around in a beret. That is my credo. And so it is written.”
“And so it shal be done. And so you shal be buying our second round this morning due to al this unnecessary stress I’ve suffered.”
“Fine,” I say and go to the counter to order.
When I sit back down with our coffees, Sweet’n Low, and stirrers, I start in on my jerk neighbor and tel her what happened. What the hel kind of name is Brady, anyway? Sydney, of course, asks if he’s hot.
And no, he is not hot. She asks if he’s passable.
Again I tel her no. She’s asking because if he is, then one of us needs to date him. Even if he was, it certainly wouldn’t be me, and I wouldn’t let him have her either. We deserve perfect princes. And him? The wish-wrecking neighbor from hel ? He should end up with a trol .
“Oh! I didn’t tel you the latest,” she says. “I got set up on a blind date with this guy named Ed, and he kept making this face on our whole first date.”
“What kind of face?”
“He kept doing this ,” she says, making this fish face. She’s sticking her lips out like she’s either puckering up or making fish
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