Yeah, I know. Another one. I was rewriting my main story and this little thing just sort of hopped into my brain. Don't take it seriously.

Thing Two: The Prom...though as you may find out Prom has not a big enough role to be considered for the title...

"You asshole!"

"I'll do it."

"Don't!"

"I'm going to."

"Bullshit!"

"Like hell."

"Ugh," Lindsey tossed her hands in the air, forgetting she was holding a paper plate with scrambled eggs and effectively creating a mess on the floor.

Bruce narrowed his eyes and pointed down at the spattered food, "You're still gonna eat that."

Lindsey scrunched her nose and snapped back, "Like hell!"

"It's settled then."

She laughed sardonically and leaned back against the countertop, "You're saying if I eat your rancid egg mixture off the floor you were walking on with your dog shit shoes you won't chaperone at my prom?"

Bruce pointed at her with a stern look, "You don't insult the shoes."

Lindsey pointed right back at him, "You don't go to my prom. Especially not in that tacky tie dye suit you were talking about."

Bruce shook his head and smiled reassuringly, "Of course not. I promise." He waited until she visibly relaxed before adding, "I'll wear your mother's shirt. The one that says 'Lindsey and Abby's Mom.'"

"Agh!" Lindsey shouted once more, "You are unbelievable! Why don't you torture Abby like this?"

"You're more fun," Bruce answered with a cheeky smile, "Abby doesn't understand me."

"And I do? You could be…" she trailed off, her expression suddenly changing from anger to hilarity. To Bruce's horror, she started cackling.

"What's wrong with you now?" he asked hastily. She managed to choke out through laughter, "Pillsbury Doughboy! Remember?"

He glared at her for a moment before easing into a smirk, "Would you rather I dress up as the Doughboy?"

"And make cookies? Yeah!"

Bruce sighed, picking up his own empty plate, "Tie dye pants and Momma shirt it is, then."

Lindsey sobered herself and stated seriously, "You still aren't chaperoning the prom."

He tossed his plate and nodded toward the pile of eggs on the floor, "You know the deal."

"Not gonna happen."

Bruce held out his arms before pinching her cheek, "Then Uncle Bruce is taking his baby girl to the prom."

"Ugh," she groaned in disgust, backing away from him, "First of all, you're not really my uncle just the kid my mom babysat. And you sounded like a predator just then. And you're not stepping anywhere near my prom or the word prom on any written…thing."

"Any written thing?"

"You're not going!" she shouted one last time before flouncing off to her room. Bruce chuckled at the sound of a slammed door before glancing down at the eggs on the floor. He kneeled down and scooped the food onto another plate, then tiptoed down the hall toward Lindsey's room.

Bruce stood in front of her door and made to set the plate of scrambled eggs down on the floor when Lindsey's voice rang out, "Don't do it!"

"I just wanted to say goodnight," he answered defensively.

"Well fine. Goodnight. Go!"

"And I wanted to ask where your mom keeps that shirt? I still want to wear it."

He was rewarded with the third perturbed scream of the evening.