"What's the deal, Mindy?" Homer protested. "You know I'm married."

The shapely safety inspector gave him a quizzical look.

No, she doesn't know, he realized. She's part of this alternate reality. If I try to explain things to her, she'll think I'm crazy…

"To my job," he said with a sheepish grin. "I'm married to my job."

"It's about time you admitted it," said Mindy seriously.

She took Homer by the hand and led him along the corridor to Sector 7-G, all the while talking about the nature of their relationship. "How long have we been seeing each other, Homer?" she asked him.

"Uh…" It occurred to Homer that he hadn't the foggiest idea. In this strange universe he and Mindy might have been an item for days, months, or even…

"Years," she answered for him. "They've been the best years of my life, but they could be better. You know what I'm getting at."

They arrived at Homer's station, where he found the control panel to be quite familiar. More complicated was the response he had to give to the lovely and impatient woman standing next to him. If I wait long enough, he thought, maybe she'll answer for me again.

She did. "I want kids, Homer. Your kids."

"But my kids don't exist anymore," said Homer, shrugging.

"I want your face to be the first thing I see every morning," said Mindy seductively. "I want to hear little feet running into the house and little voices yelling, 'Mommy!'"

Keep going, Homer thought. I've almost figured it out.

"I love you more than anything in the world, Homer," said Mindy, caressing his cheek. "I can't see any reason why we shouldn't get married."

"GET MARRIED!" Homer blurted out.

Mindy scowled slightly. "You're not yourself this morning," she observed.

"Yes, I am," Homer insisted. It's the rest of the universe that's not itself.

"I know what you need," said Mindy with a smile. "Lemon custard donuts. I'll go fetch some."

How did she know my favorite flavor? wondered Homer as the woman skipped away.

He assumed his typical working position—hands behind head, legs resting on the console—and examined the measurements on the gauges while considering his situation. In a way it made sense—only his faithfulness to Marge had prevented him from becoming involved with Mindy in his old life. With Marge out of the picture, there was no obstacle. This presented a problem, as the temptation to pursue her was now even greater. How could he resist?

Should he resist?

Getting Marge and the kids back is pretty much hopeless anyway, he pondered. This new arrangement isn't so bad. Mindy would make a fantastic wife. I expect big things from a woman, and oh, mama, she's got big things. No! What about the kids? Unless I get Marge back, they'll never exist! Wait! If I marry Mindy, maybe our kids will be Bart, Lisa, and Maggie. I can just imagine Lisa as a redhead…

Mindy sprang into his office, clutching a box of donuts. "Hey, Homer."

"Can't talk," said Homer flatly. "Agonizing."

Her expression one of glee, Mindy drew a lemon custard donut from the box and dangled it in front of Homer's nose. "Do…nut…" she intoned.

Homer barely noticed the donut. This surprised him as much as it surprised Mindy.

"If you don't want it, I'll eat it," said Mindy disappointedly, and she ripped out a chunk of the donut with her teeth.

Homer watched her chew for a few seconds, then spoke up. "Mindy, you're a really nice girl, but…"

The woman made a face like a wounded deer.

"…but you're more than just a nice girl. You're one hell of a woman. And the two of us are perfect for each other, but…"

Mindy paused in mid-bite, her eyes wide.

"…but it's not enough to be perfect for each other. There has to be mutual understanding, mutual attraction, Mutual of Omaha, and all that other mutual stuff."

"We have that," said Mindy with a mouth full of custard.

"Of course we do," said Homer. "But for us to get married…I'm afraid that's…"

Mindy shot him a pained look.

"…that's gonna have to wait at least a week," Homer concluded.

"A week?" echoed Mindy. "That's fine. I'll ask Reverend Lovejoy if next Tuesday's good." She kissed Homer's cheek, leaving a lemon-yellow stain.

"But…" Homer began, but she had already waltzed away happily, leaving the donut box sitting on the control console.

I don't want to break her heart, he thought earnestly. Whatever I do to her, I'll have to live with it if I don't succeed in getting Marge back from Artie.

In faraway Las Vegas, camera flashes went off throughout the convention center audience as millionaire software entrepreneur Artie Ziff strode to the podium. A banner suspended above his head bore the greeting, WELCOME TO COMDEX '05.

Artie lowered the microphone about eight inches, so it was level with his nose. "Achem," he cleared his throat. "I'm grateful to the convention organizers for all the work they've done. This year's Comdex is the largest yet, with over 3,000 vendors—so many that if you combined them all, they might pose a threat to Ziffcorp."

The audience chuckled. In one of the chairs behind the podium sat Marge Ziff, clad in a fine silk dress, her hair coiffed into an elegant blue tower, a glowing smile on her face.

"My wife Marge has provided the inspiration for many of Ziffcorp's products," Artie went on. "Her latest brainchild is the Intelligent Breadmaker—a device that can bake white, whole wheat, sourdough, or rye bread, depending on your voice input."

The address soon concluded, and Artie departed the stage with Marge amidst thunderous applause. As they walked toward the parking garage, Artie noticed a puzzled expression on Marge's face. "Something wrong, honey?" he inquired.

"I don't know," said Marge, shaking her head. "I've got this feeling like…like something's not right with my life."

"We'll go to the strip as soon as the convention's over, I promise," said Artie.

"No, it's not that." Sensing something amiss, Marge reached upward into her stack of hair to find that a sparrow had accidentally lodged itself inside. "Oh, you poor little thing!"

"Is it hurt?" asked Artie, looking at the small bird fluttering in Marge's slender hands.

"A little stunned," Marge observed. She stood patiently for a few seconds, and the sparrow regained its footing and flew away.

"Still having that feeling?" said Artie gently.

"Nope," Marge answered as they walked. "I'm fine now."

The work day passed uneventfully. Homer averted three routine meltdowns, but he was no closer to coming up with a plan to return his family to existence.

Mindy entered his control room seconds before the final whistle rang. "Hey, meaty sweetie," she said, planting her lips against his mouth. "Let's blow this joint and head over to Moe's."

"Uh, I was gonna do that anyway," said Homer.

Mindy giggled. "You're so funny."

Homer had never driven a woman to Moe's Tavern, so he felt understandably weird. He had hoped to become disgustingly drunk and forget about the loss of Marge and the kids, in case forgetting them might magically cause them to reappear (hey, it could work). Now that a lady was accompanying him, however, he feared he would have to comport himself as a gentleman.

Not so. Mindy proved herself to be every bit the drinker that he was.

"Hey, Moe," she called. "Gimme another Lowbrau."

"Comin' right up," said Moe, reaching for a mug. "You're drinkin' a lot today. Is it a special occasion?"

"Yup," Mindy replied. "Homer and I are getting married in a week."

"Married!" Moe exclaimed in astonishment. "And so soon! Why wasn't I told? Why wasn't I invited? It's the bathing thing, isn't it? C'mon, I bathed for Seymour and Edna's wedding."

"What Mindy meant to say was, we're getting married in at least a week," Homer clarified.

"Whassa matter, Homer?" Moe mocked him. "Afraid of commitment? Just wed 'er and bed 'er already."

The more Homer drank, the more reasonable Moe's proposal appeared to him. Mindy really loves me, he thought. If I marry her, then we'll be happy, Marge and Artie will be happy…even Flanders will be happy. Oh well, you gotta take the bad with the good.

A dejected-looking man with pointy, thinning hair lifted himself onto the stool next to Homer's. "I'll have the usual, Moe," he said in a deflated, raspy voice.

He looks so familiar, thought Homer. The hair, the tiny feet, the red nose, the white makeup…

"Krusty!" he exclaimed with delight.

The man glared morosely at him. "That's what they used to call me," he grumbled, "back when I had a show."

"What happened?" Homer asked.

"Where have you been?" Krusty sighed. "I went to jail for allegedly holding up the Kwik-E-Mart. It was the end of my show, my career, my family…everything."

"No, it wasn't," said Homer. "Bart cleared your name."

"Bart? Bart who?"

The response hit Homer like a brickbat in the gut. A man's life had been destroyed, all because Bart had never been born.

"Don't tell me you've forgotten Herschel," said Mindy, stroking his arm hair. "He's a regular here."

Without considering that some people might actually have happier lives due to the nonexistence of Bart, Homer launched himself from the stool and marched toward the tavern exit. "Homer, wait!" Mindy called after him.

He was walking past the Android's Dungeon when she caught up. "Homer, please tell me what's going on!" she begged.

"You couldn't possibly understand," said Homer, shaking his head sadly.

"We promised to share everything," said Mindy firmly. "Now start sharing."

While Homer stared wordlessly at her, Comic Book Guy stuck his head through the door of his shop to listen in on the exchange.

"Okay," Homer finally said. "I can't marry you. I have a wife and children."

Mindy's mouth fell open. "You mean…you've been cheating?"

"Not really. You see, I'm not the Homer you fell in love with. I'm a Homer from an alternate reality. A little green alien sent me here, and I have to find a way to return to my own universe, or I'll never see my family again."

"Why, that's ingenious!" Comic Book Guy blurted out. "Best premise ever. I shall use it as the basis for a graphic novel of my own authoring."

Mindy, on the other hand, wasn't impressed—she could only stare blankly.

"You don't believe me," said Homer. "I'm not sure I believe it either. Maybe Maude's right. Maybe I'm having delusions. But I remember it so clearly…all the time I spent with Bart, and Lisa, and Marge…"

"Marge?" The name stunned Mindy. "Marge Ziff?"

Homer nodded.

"That reminds me," said Comic Book Guy. "I'm downloading something from the Internet, and it should be finished by now. Ta-ta."

While the rotund dealer vanished into his store, Mindy gave Homer a gentle scolding. "That's so unoriginal, Homer. Every man in your age bracket has fantasized about being married to Marge Ziff at one time or another. But your case is different, I guess—you knew her in high school. Have you been secretly in love with her all along?"

Homer's brain ground to a halt.

"I know what it is," said Mindy facetiously. "You're waiting for something to happen to Artie Ziff, so you can marry his widow. That's why you won't commit to me."

"Uhhh…" Homer grunted mindlessly.

"Deny it, Homer," Mindy urged him. "I'm getting worried here."

"Uh...I wanna go home," said Homer.

"That's a good idea," said Mindy. "We could both use a good night's sleep. There's no way we'll get to the bottom of your problems as long as we're both drunk."

"G'night, Mandy," said Homer, stumbling away.

Mindy waved and blew a kiss. "Good night, Homer."

to be continued