Summary: A play off of a blonde joke. Glorified, so it's longer than any blonde joke you've ever heard.
A/N: Are you allowed to make fanfics off of jokes? Oh well, I did it. I heard this blonde joke and made a really long story out of it. Well, not really long, but compared to the joke it is way uber huge.
Those Who Exist But Are Not Yet Informed
I was standing in the bathroom waiting for my friend when this rather stick-like lady walked in. I pretended not to look, because my mother always told me it was rude to stare. Thinking about my mother wasn't as painful as it was before now. It made me wonder if it wasn't dishonoring her memory or something.
The lady didn't walk into an empty stall, but instead headed straight for the mirrors and sinks. Her pocket book was bulging to the point of overflowing with stuff. Somehow, it had managed to stay zipped.
Gobs and gobs of makeup dropped into the sink. My mouth hung open. Underneath her mask of makeup was…a perfectly normal face. Not too plain, not too pretty. No blemishes, no scratches, the only problem with it was that it was a little sunken in.
After she washed her face, she put away the face wash, but draped the washcloth over the neighboring sink to let it dry. She then entered a stall and started singing aloud:
"What a glorious day in my prison.
I'm surrounded by four walls on all sides,
And they're colored as blue as the ocean's tides.
Oh, what a glorious day in my prison.
"What a wonderful chair in my prison.
It's porcelain and white,
My rear-end fits in tight.
Oh, what a wonderful chair in my prison."
My ears were unfortunate enough to hear a third verse:
"What an abstract floor in my prison.
There are little tiles and toilet papers,
And a trash can full of dirty diapers.
Oh, what an abstract floor in my prison."
It was then that I closed my ears off. The lady kept on singing, but I had not desire to hear more. Instead, I walked over and check out the purse, thinking she was going to be awhile.
Inside the purse was hand-cream, the face wash I had seen her use earlier, and the most odd assortment of cosmetics. I noticed she had stopped singing, so I quickly tried to shut it again. The zipper wouldn't close, so I just walked back to my spot and hoped she wouldn't notice.
After she came out, she went straight to the third sink, the one that she hadn't used yet, and washed her hands. Then she went back to the first sink and applied her makeup.
First, a layer of ghostly white powder, then a layer of a fluid foundation that was about five shades darker than her original skin color. She continued applying makeup for the next five minutes.
Then she went into a different stall from the one she had used last time. I am relieved to announce that she did not sing her bathroom song. She washed her hands, again in the third sink, and finally walked out with her purse, but without the washcloth on the second sink.
I grabbed it, and ran after her. She was about five yards away, so I called out, "Miss, your washcloth. You left it in the bathroom."
She turned around and faced me. Her face was screwed up with thinking. Then she looked relieved. "Thank heavens! I knew I forgot something, I just wasn't sure what. That was my great-grandmother's washcloth. Thank you so much for returning it." She flipped her purse over and unzipped the bottom. She pulled out two bills and handed them to me. I handed her the washcloth.
"Thank you so much again, for the washcloth. Here's a reward for you kindness," and she walked away.
I looked down into my hand. Two one-hundred dollar bills! Wow, I was lucky. I walked back into the bathroom, my friend emerging with her nose in a book. It turns out she missed absolutely everything, because when I asked her about hearing anything absurd, she said 'no'.
So, I told her the whole story.
"What do you make of it?" I asked.
"What was the color of her hair?"
"Blonde."
A/N: Sorry that the verses of the song didn't come out right online. They're supposed to be separate paragraphs for each line, but when I uploaded it, it just separated them all out like. I added extra space for conveniency.