I'M BACK FOLKS!
Disclaimer: Once again, I don't own Newsies. They belong to Disney, the lucky bastards. I don't exactly own the plot line; most of it belongs to Megan McCafferty.
****
When I got home that night, the Wedding Maniacs, my mother and Elizabeth, my older sister, who had been planning this "simple" wedding like there was no tomorrow, pounced on me.
" TRY THIS ON!" Frizzy Lizzie snarled, shoving a hideous yellow gown in my face.
I protested, " B-b-but, it's yellow!" (Which is another great example of my stupidity)
"MAIZE!" the WM screamed.
Reluctantly, I took the, erm, thing and marched into my room. I shrugged it on, only to see a frosted, frilly, lemon tart in the mirror before me. Suddenly, Elizabeth swung the door open and mom began sticking pins in the gown like I was a voodoo doll.
"Oh dear," she tutted, " We'll have to take in the chest quite a bit." (Meh, no kidding)
Once I was released, I marched into our kitchen/dining roon/den to see my father reading the paper.
" There's nothin' good in the papes today, Dad"
He looked over the paper and replied, " No? What about the cookie factory fire? Or the scandal at a Long Island restaurant?"
GAAAAAAAAAAH! Even my own father can find better stories than I can!
" You've really got to dig, honey. Peruse the paper. Delve in the words, Notso." ('Notso' as in Notso Darling. GET IT? Man, I hate my last name)
I also really don't like how passionate my dad is about selling papers. I guess it's the former salesman in him. Well, duh.
"So..." mom began with this grin," who's the lucky fella that you're bringing to Liz's wedding? Hmm?"
I could so tell that she wanted me to say "Scotty," but I can hardly stand to say that buffoon's name any longer.
"Umm.."
"Just say it, stupid!" my conscience screamed in my ear.
My entire family stared at me from different corners of our miniscule apartment. (And that's another thing- if we're able to afford this extravagant wedding, why am I a newsie and why are we living here?)
"Is it dear Scotty?" she asked, in such an obvious way. Mary Darling was never good at acting nonchalant. Well, neither am I.
"well,he'snotche-" I accidentally blurted out. (Told you so.) I slapped my hand over my big mouth as my family leaned in closer.
I shook my head. "Forget it."
"No! Tell us!" Liz insisted, dropping her sewing needle.
What kind of sticky situation had I gotten myself into?
****
Please review! It's like your favorite newsie on your doorstep, proclaiming his undying love for you! Don't flame! It's like finding out your beloved newsie is either in love with someone else or is gay. (I don't mean to offend any homosexuals out there.)
Disclaimer: Once again, I don't own Newsies. They belong to Disney, the lucky bastards. I don't exactly own the plot line; most of it belongs to Megan McCafferty.
****
When I got home that night, the Wedding Maniacs, my mother and Elizabeth, my older sister, who had been planning this "simple" wedding like there was no tomorrow, pounced on me.
" TRY THIS ON!" Frizzy Lizzie snarled, shoving a hideous yellow gown in my face.
I protested, " B-b-but, it's yellow!" (Which is another great example of my stupidity)
"MAIZE!" the WM screamed.
Reluctantly, I took the, erm, thing and marched into my room. I shrugged it on, only to see a frosted, frilly, lemon tart in the mirror before me. Suddenly, Elizabeth swung the door open and mom began sticking pins in the gown like I was a voodoo doll.
"Oh dear," she tutted, " We'll have to take in the chest quite a bit." (Meh, no kidding)
Once I was released, I marched into our kitchen/dining roon/den to see my father reading the paper.
" There's nothin' good in the papes today, Dad"
He looked over the paper and replied, " No? What about the cookie factory fire? Or the scandal at a Long Island restaurant?"
GAAAAAAAAAAH! Even my own father can find better stories than I can!
" You've really got to dig, honey. Peruse the paper. Delve in the words, Notso." ('Notso' as in Notso Darling. GET IT? Man, I hate my last name)
I also really don't like how passionate my dad is about selling papers. I guess it's the former salesman in him. Well, duh.
"So..." mom began with this grin," who's the lucky fella that you're bringing to Liz's wedding? Hmm?"
I could so tell that she wanted me to say "Scotty," but I can hardly stand to say that buffoon's name any longer.
"Umm.."
"Just say it, stupid!" my conscience screamed in my ear.
My entire family stared at me from different corners of our miniscule apartment. (And that's another thing- if we're able to afford this extravagant wedding, why am I a newsie and why are we living here?)
"Is it dear Scotty?" she asked, in such an obvious way. Mary Darling was never good at acting nonchalant. Well, neither am I.
"well,he'snotche-" I accidentally blurted out. (Told you so.) I slapped my hand over my big mouth as my family leaned in closer.
I shook my head. "Forget it."
"No! Tell us!" Liz insisted, dropping her sewing needle.
What kind of sticky situation had I gotten myself into?
****
Please review! It's like your favorite newsie on your doorstep, proclaiming his undying love for you! Don't flame! It's like finding out your beloved newsie is either in love with someone else or is gay. (I don't mean to offend any homosexuals out there.)