Kurt was busy, sewing the two pieces of his torn shirt back together. "Finn, could you have a word with those damn jocks about harrassing me without damaging my clothes?"
Finn spit toothpaste into the stained sink. "Are you serious? Do you know how difficult it is with those guys? They are already spreading rumors that we are boyfriends."
"Let them say what they want. They're neanderthals. After high school, they'll be cleaning my septic tank."
"Don't you get it? It's not just them. We live in Ohio, not New York, or San Fransisco, or some other city where people eat vegetables that aren't fried. I don't understand why you always need to make a big spectical of yourself. Can't you just work harder to fit in?"
"I'm sure that'd be easier for you."
"You know, it would." He turned to the mirror and began to scrub his chin with a washrag.
"You are such a boy!" Kurt growled, storming to Finn. "You can't use abrasive materials on your face. You're going to have to use a moist towelette." He ripped a wipe from a package and started for Finn's face, receiving a smack.
"Don't touch me!" Finn roared rather loudly, jumping away.
"What is your problem, Finn? It's just a moist towelette."
Finn caught his breath, and said, "I'm going to go finish in the other bathroom."
"Grow up, Finn!"
Emma unlocked the door.
Rory rushed into the apartment and headed straight for the kitchen for a snack. Long day at school and a three hour soccer practice really takes the energy out of you.
Emma sighed, shutting the door and setting her purse down nicely. Her face lit up, stunned, as she admired the decorated table. "What is this?" she whispered to herself, almost giggling. She wandered around to see Will, busy lighting a candle. She removed her jacket and asked him, "Are we having a romantic dinner?"
He looked up, grinning. "Sort of."
She tilted her head, confused and slightly concerned.
"I invited you parents over."
Emma glanced over to the couch to find Rusty and Rose.
"Is that my little Freaky Deeky?" Rose hummed.
"Hello, sweetheart!" Rusty simpered, waving.
Emma put a fake smile on her face, chanting, "Yay, yay!" She then turned stiff, scuttling to the kitchen. "Okay, I'm going to say 'hi' in one minute!"
Will chased her, silently questioning her sudden panic.
She began to gulp wine, which had been rare for her. "Maybe, um, maybe w-we can get th-them to leave. Pretend like, um, an ovarian cyst burst. Works every time."
"What is going on here?" he asked. "Are you ashamed of me?"
"No; I'm ashamed of them. My parents are ginger supremacists."
"No, no, no, no!" Rusty sighed. "We're not ginger supremacists! We're more, uh, ginger preservationists."
Rory touched his mother's hand. She wrapped her fingers onto his wrists snugly, providing comfort.
"We don't hate anybody," Rose explained. "We just prefer the company of other redheads, which is why we like the Red Oaks so much."
"What's the Red Oaks?" Will swallowed a bite of meatloaf.
"It's a gingers-only country club."
Rust reached to spread butter on his dinner roll.
"It's really the only place I feel like being myself. Let my auburn hair down."
Rusty waved the butterknife in the air, sternly. "You know, redheads will be instinct in thirty years. It's a recessive gene, friend. We keep heading down the road we're on, everybody just mixing with everybody, redheads will cease to exist as a species!"
Emma began to slowly shift her spoon around. She would be heavily concentrating until the spoon landed in the perfect spot.
"Mummy," Rory said softly, as a whisper. "Mummy, stop."
"Just eat, sweetie. Don't worry."
Rose lifted her wine glass, studying Will. "I'd really love to hear about your heritage. I have to say, your hair's a little wooly for my taste. But those beautiful blue eyes are a very good sign. Now, Schuester is German, right?"
"I think so," Will responded.
"You're practically a Viking!" Rusty cheered.
"Oh," Rose said, slowly but excitedly, "that's a relief! There's got to be some red hair in that family tree."
"Not like that Carl..."
Emma bit he lip, striving to resist her urges.
"Rusty," Rose demanded, "be nice."
He responded, "You said it yourself."
Rory squeezed his mother's hand, delaying her.
Rusty continued eating. "You know, honey, these beans you bought are just delicious."
"Oh, pish posh. Did you know that the supermarket was fresh out of lima beans? Can you believe that? Out of lima beans... In Lima, Ohio!"
"Obama's America."
When no one was looking, Emma hurried to scratch at residue on her spoon. Finally her tension was relieved.
"Mummy!" Rory couldn't help but gasp faintly.
Rose spotted Emma's odd behavior, and said, "Oops! Looks like Freaky Deeky's come down with a mean case of the cleanies!"
Rusty warned, "Don't try to stop her once she starts, Will. We used to tie her thumbs together; she'd chew right through the twine! Adorable!"
"I think it's weird." Rose remarked. "I don't know where she got it."
The restaurant seemed packed, but Emma wouldn't dare talk to - or even glance - at those strangers. He watched her parents as they waited for a waitress. An unfamiliar lady appeared, setting tall glasses of water before the three.
"I'm sorry, amigo," her mama said to the lady. "You're not our regular waitress."
"Oh, yeah," her daddy gazed forward. "Cindy!"
Emma rolled her eyes to see their waitress wave.
Her parents smiled at the lady currently serving them, as her mama kindly said, "No offense."
The lady, obviously offended, walked away.
Emma was confused. What was wrong with that waitress? She looked very nice. She was probably a very kind and gentle "amigo," but for some reason, her mama did not want her serving them. Emma sat and thought, but she couldn't find any answers. She just continued to watch her mama, who was now reaching into her purse. Her mama said, "Can't be too careful. You don't know where those hands have been. Here's a moist towelette."
She took the small wipe that her mama handed saw her mama obsessively scrub the glass in front of her. Her daddy stared at her mama as if she were crazy.
"Emma," her mama instructed, "wipe your glass down, please."
Emma copied her mama, glass in one hand and the wipe in the other.
"Good girl. Get it clean. Rusty, wipe yours, please."
Will slammed his fists down onto the table, his cutlery shaking. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to be rude, but hasn't anyone ever told you that you're both a little racist?"
Rose placed a hand on her chest. "I'm sorry?"
"Excuse me," Rusty pointed a finger. "It's not racist to be proud of the heritage you're trying to preserve, Will."
"Maybe it isn't." Will said. "But I have children. And I don't care what they look like. And you know what? If any of my children ended up having OCD, I'd maybe try to show some compassion instead of calling them a name that makes them feel like a freak."
During a moment of pure silence, Emma moved her hand onto the table and grasped Will's, smiling.
All Rose was to say was, "These beans are a disaster."
Rusty replied, "These beans are what happens when you sit out on an election, Rose."
"There wasn't a ginger candidate." *
*For references, watch Ginger Supremacists - Extended Scene.
