Disclaimer: It's not mine!
Cuddy's always wrong. This is a usually joyful fact of my life.Who is this mysterious 'Cuddy' who can't get anything right you ask? She's my boss. Which is why it's usually so nice that she's always wrong. Except when she underpays me. Then it's not so nice. Anyways, as I was saying, Cuddy's always wrong. Whether she's disbelieving my almost completely truthful plea for another CT scan or considering several idiots, (my best friend and sidekick included), for sperm donors, she's always wrong.
For instance, this morning she walked into my office, (where I was standing on my desk rocking out with my beloved guitar), and started yelling at me for something I seriously didn't do! See, I'm trying to hire a new team since my old one up and left me. Okay, so I fired one of them, but I was in a crappy mood. Anyways, one of the more annoying applicants, who I like to refer to as "The Bitch" or "Cutthroat Bitch" had apparently ratted out one of the other annoying applicants, who I have taken to calling "The Mormon," for going behind Cuddy's back about something. What I'm not exactly sure, but apparently Cuddy thought it was my fault. Mind you, it usually is my fault, but I honestly had no idea what she was screeching at me for this time.
I pathetically tried to drown her out with Cold as Ice but she only screamed louder. Giving up, I leaned over and set my guitar in her stand before sitting on my desk and popping a lollipop in my mouth. I nodded and made "mhmm" noises that gave the allusion of paying attention while I squirmed to get a better view down Cuddy's blouse. The next time I tuned in to see whether or not she had cooled down a little teensy tinsy itty bitty bit, I discovered that she was talking about "us."
Which is funny because there is no "us." I think there was an "us" one drunken night in college, but that was at least twenty years ago. (Give me a break. My memory's going.) She was rambling on about something or other and how maybe we could go to dinner? I started to give her one of my fake-sincere "mhmm"s before I suddenly realized that maybe Cuddy had just asked me out! I stared at her with wide eyes, my eyebrows about to my hairline.
"Did- did you just ask me out, Cuddles?" I stammered. I call her Cuddles every now and then just to annoy her.
"I already know you'd say 'no,' House. Really. We need to talk with a donor? You haven't been listening at all, have you?" I wondered what took her so long to catch on to that. Usually she's pretty quick. Which completely contradicts the idea that she's always wrong, but just go with it.
"A donor? A sperm donor?" I was too lost to have any sort of witty comeback.
"No, House! The new donor to the hospital! He wants to take us out to dinner! Apparently he's heard of you and wants to meet you." She tossed her arms in the air and then settled her fists on her hips.
"Oh no, no, no, no! I will not be paraded around like one of those creepy little wooden puppets with all the strings just so you can get money for another... job," I snarked, gesturing to her chest.
She rolled her eyes. "First of all, they're called marionettes. Second of all, you'll do as you're told, Gregory House! I am still your boss and I can still make your life a living hell!"
I pretended to shrink away from her in fear. "Oh no, Mother Cuddy! Don't hurt me! I will bow before your golden idol!"
"House... Don't even try to fight me. I know you'll give in eventually. You always do. Must have something to do with my ass," she turned with a sigh and, what's the word? Ah, yes. She turned and sashayed out of my office. I admired the thing in question before shaking my head. If she only knew. Sure, I comment on the ass, (it is actually, quite nice), to cover my own, but I don't give in because of it. And I sure as heck wouldn't say 'no.'
Cuddy's always wrong.
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