FYI: Her boyfriend Weston used to have this green crotch rocket, but he traded it in when they came to college. More practical, I guess.
FYII: Molly’s’ boyfriend is a total, certifiable hottie.
Hey, I’m just saying!
I let out a huge puff of air and a tiny orange chunk of Cheeto shoots out. Gross! I freaking hate when food flies out of my mouth – it’s so awkward. Wrinkling up my nose I search for the speck and pick it off the arm of the couch before asking, “Soooo… who are these people you need to get ahold of?”
“Um…” Molly studies her nails, examining them this way and that before chewing on her coral colored pinkie nail. “Mattmph….”
“Huh?” I squint, straining to hear her.
“My brothmph…” She looks at the ceiling and averts her eyes.
“Huh? What are you saying?” I’m so confused.
“Ihavetogetaholdofmybrother.” The words come out in rush and I actually have to cock my neck like a dog and play the words back in my head to try and make sense of them. I have to grab hold of a gutter? I have to get fold of another? I have a bread load from a feather?
Um yeah. Deciphering her mumbling simply ain’t gonna happen because none of it is making any sense. I majored in Economics, not Translating.
“Can you please repeat that, only slower and less… like a spaz?”
“You know I have this family dinner thing on Sundays and have to get ahold of my brother. I don’t normally need a ride to my folk’s place but this weekend I do. So… Could you… Um…” Molly’s waving her hands around airily to and fro.
I groan.
Loudly, not giving her a chance to finish her sentence I sputter and throw down the bag of Cheetos in a huff. A few Cheetos escape from the bag and land on the carpet. “Ugh! You know what Molly? You just ruined my entire afternoon. I can’t even take one night to be lazy. How am I supposed to enjoy this junk food with an email to your evil brother looming on my horizon? Good God Molly!”
“Wait a second – are those my Cheetos?” Cheetos are Molly’s absolute favorite treat and the one thing she will not share.
Growing up, she was never allowed to eat junk food because one time, her dipshit brother Matthew wiped his big, dumb, fat, Cheetos fingers all over the arms of her mom’s favorite armchair, staining the fabric orange and ruining it forever. Molly officially refers to it as “The incident of 2010 that ruined it for everybody.”
I mean, her mom must have been pretty pissed to banish junk food from the house.
Molly narrows her eyes and I pick up the bag from the floor, only to shove it under an ugly throw pillow that’s in the corner of the couch. “Cecelia Jane Carter – I’m going to ask you one more time. Are those my Cheetos?”
Dammit. Busted. “Um…. No?”
She rolls her eyes and steeples the points of her fingers together, not even a little pissed off. I can tell she’s just had a Eureka! moment and I’m not sure I’m quite digging it. Slowly Molly smiles, the dimple in her right cheek appearing. “Tell you what. Since I love you so dearly, and this is your first offence, I’ll let this petty theft of yours slide. But you have to do me this one small favor.”
“Two minutes ago you were calling it a huge favor.” I use air quotes when I say favor. “I’m sorry, but Cheeto theft or not – it’s a no.” Defiantly, I cross my arms and stare out the window with my chin pointed up. “The crime and the favor are not evenly matched. Sorry.”
Molly stomps her slippered foot like a petulant child. “Oh come on CeCe! Please! Don’t make me walk down the hall and ask Creepy Writer Guy if I can use his computer.”
Dammit, she had to bring Creepy Writer Guy into this?
Crappity crap.
She knows me too well.
Creepy Writer Guy (CWG - or Pit Stains as Weston sometimes refers to him) is our name for the only other person in our apartment complex that we’ve actually ever met - and he’s exactly what you’re picturing: middle aged, scowling, and sometimes shirtless.
Receding hairline with a comb-over.
You know in that episode of Friends where Chandler, Monica, Phoebe, Joey, Ross and Rachel talk about Ugly Naked Guy, the fat guy they watch from Monica and Rachel’s apartment, and the guy they once poked with a large pole?
Well, Creepy Writer Guy is our poor girl’s version of him. Maybe not so much the naked part… but he does live down the hall from us and every time we go into the hallway, he opens his door a crack to steal glimpses of us.
He’s totally weird – a total creeper - and we’re pretty confident he has a collection of women’s underwear inside a bathroom cabinet somewhere, but that’s just speculation (so don’t go quoting me on that).