A/N: So basically, I was thinking about how much I missed writing and posting on FanNet, because I haven't in a long while. And while I was thinking about that, I got this text from someone regarding Pete Wentz and Ashlee Simpson's new baby. As if I really gave a damn. They named it Bronx. And it just made me think about how much I hate babies. And somehow this was born as a result. It's nice to be writing on here again. More Roger POV humor for you all.
You know, I cherish these times when I can sit down with my Fender and just chillax. Roger time. Without anyone to worry about or anyone to worry about me. No Mark to make me shower, no Maureen to make me have a conversation, no Collins to make me get up off my ass and go somewhere, no Benny to hassle me about paying the rent. Without them, I am completely and utterly alone. And I love it. Who else is there to bother me?
"ROGER!" As the loft door slides open I'm reminded that I have a girlfriend. Righhhhhht. Forgot about her for a second there.
"Mimiiiii…" I reply, feigning equal enthusiasm, "What are you doing here?" Where I live. And write songs. Alone.
"I have news!" She announces, beaming from ear to ear. She's so happy, so adorable, and so ruining my afternoon. She takes her coat off and tosses it onto the couch beside me. Oh goody, she's staying.
"Yay?" I say, dejectedly placing my guitar to the side. There will be no music playing today. Now I'm sure of it.
"You are going to LOVE THIS," she assures me. And somehow I know that I'm not going to love it at all. She takes a deep breath, "Are you ready?" – I nod, but only because I've learned that it's the only acceptable answer to the question – "I want…"
A helicopter?! A motorcycle?! A river of melted chocolate?! A threesome?!
"…a kid!"
The words don't quite register. I try to keep the grin alive, for her sake and mine, "Yeah! A kid! Cool…you mean like a goat? Because that's awesome and everything, but I hear they're hard to take care of and the smell is outrageous and…" I trail off. She's laughing. Why is she laughing? It's not a joke. Goat's fucking smell and I'm almost positive that they're in the Building Restrictions Code because I've never seen a goat in the loft before.
"Sweetie," Mimi begins to clarify carefully. She stops and giggles her special giggle, "you're an idiot. Hilarious, but such an idiot."
Hilarious. Yeah, that's right. I was trying to be funny. I'm such a comedian.
"Roger, I want a baby." She nods seriously after she's said it, confirming the statement with herself, "A human baby. Not a goat." She adds as an afterthought.
Now I think it's my turn to laugh. So I do. Well, it starts out as a laugh. Mimi joins me, nervously chuckling along. But the laugh keeps growing, and she's looking at me like I'm insane. But I'm not insane. SHE is insane. Who's the comedian now? A baby. That's a good one. Kind of a knee-slapper. I actually slap my knee. And the laugh keeps escalating. It's become a freakish cackle.
"Rog, are you okay?" She asks concernedly.
"YOU DON'T WANT A BABY!" I exclaim in between deep breaths, so suddenly that she flinches at the sound of my voice, "You HATE babies! They throw up and shit! And they don't know things. Because their heads are too fucking small. And they're supposed to be real live people, too! And then you can't touch their heads or they'll fucking die, because they're like miniature, sickly, ugly people."
Mimi looks offended. What? Is she like a baby now? Is there something I should know? "How can you say that, Roger?" She frowns at me. Crap, I've done something wrong. "Infancy is a miracle!"
"HAH. Infancy is a fucking disease!" I argue. I've obviously become the enemy here. So I might as well stand by my opinion. "Where is this even coming from?"
That question shuts her up. She considers me for a minute, deciding whether she should tell me or not. Then she takes the plunge. "Well, if you MUST know…mercerzntadeeraebeeernayvantuntu." She mumbles. Why the fuck do girls always do that?
"Come again?"
"FINE. MY COUSIN JUST HAD HER BABY AND SHE NAMED IT ALASKA. ALASKA! AND I THOUGHT THAT IT WAS PRETTY FUCKING COOL AND I WANT TO HAVE A MINIATURE, SICKLY, UGLY PERSON AND BE ABLE TO NAME IT AFTER AN ICY MASS OF LAND." She finishes and sighs, "But it wouldn't have to be an icy mass of land…We could name it Bicycle if we wanted to. It wouldn't really matter, because it would be ours."
As strange as the thought of naming my kid Alaska or Bicycle is, she manages to make it sound like something sort of sweet and endearing.
"Delightfully twisted as that may be," I'll break it to her nicely and be the bigger person, "in no universe are we fit to be parents. Ever. And I think we both sort of know that. Right?"
She pouts. Okay, apparently not.
"I wouldn't have to actually carry the thing." She suggests after a minute or so of silence, "Couldn't we get it from somewhere temporarily? Borrow it from someone?"
I roll my eyes, "Oh yes, babe. That's a great idea. Why don't I go impregnate the lady on the street with the double chin and we'll stop by in nine months, pick the kid up, and name it Bicycle. And then we can spend a day with it and give it back?" She laughs, she takes the hint. It's not happening.
"Yeah…But it would be kind of cool, right?" She collapses on the couch beside me and puts her head on my shoulder.
"It'd be very cool. I'll tell you what, when Mark gets home we'll pretend he's our kid. We'll call him Alaska and everything. Confuse him shitless." I've always been a good compromiser.
Mimi grins, "Sounds like a plan." But in her eyes I can see that she's sort of disappointed. Maybe I stomped on her dream a little bit too much. I can tell that part of her liked having the possibility of a child in the back of her mind. And all of a sudden calling her an unfit mother seems unfair. I stew in the thought for a few minutes, while she does the same. She needs some cheering up.
"Hey Mimi?"
"Yeah?"
"What do you call a baby in the middle of the ocean with no arms or legs?"
She looks at me skeptically, "What?"
"Fucked."
"ROGER THAT'S AWFUL!" She yells, attempting to suffocate me with a cushion.
"And yet both comical and true…"
"IT IS NOT COMICAL!"
"Then why are you laughing?"
Oh. I got her there.
"You're an idiot."
"But I'm your idiot. Now what do you say we go have some COMPLETELY protected sex?"
"Sounds like a plan."
A/N: Oh please don't flame me for cruelty against small children. All in good fun! Right? Reviews are sick. If I get some, maybe I'll actually keep up with my fanfiction writing. Until next time.