Disclamer: Not me, I wouldn't even want to own this.
Author's Note: I wrote this for class, but don't think I liked the book...
Ends
"Cilla!" Johnny, now called John to anyone who respected him or his fists, bellowed. He waited. No one came.
"Cilla!" Johnny yelled again. No trim little wife came rushing in through the door. "CILLA!"
Now she did come rushing in, glaring at Johnny with pins in her mouth and a needle and thread in her hands. She took the pins out her mouth and gripped them in her hand like daggers.
"What, I'm busy!" Cilla snapped, and raised an eyebrow dangerously. Johnny paid no attention, but held up his nicest pair breeches, pointing to the hem.
"They're ruined! Stained, ripped and torn!" He panicked, flapping the breeches at his wife. "I've got the signing today, what am I to do? I can't go looking like a ragamuffin."
This display of feminine worry over his clothes would have made Cilla smirk if she hadn't been so irritable. A small toddler waddled into the office, half dressed in petticoats. "Papa?" The girl inquired, sucking on her thumb.
"Not now," Her father told her sharply. She ran out of the room. "Cilla, please!" He entreated angrily.
"Fine, but I'm not fixing it again," She grabbed them from his hands, accidentally-on-purpose ripping it even more.
"CILLA TREMAIN!" Johnny's eyes went wide with horror.
She shrugged and smirked at him. "We'll just have to make ends meet, won't we?"
Johnny showed up to the signing of the Constitution in plain breeches and red ears.