Vegeta, the Pro
"So is Vegeta any good at it?" ChiChi whispered, dropping into the patio chair the surly Saiyan had just vacated.
Bulma smiled as she watched her husband walk proudly around the side of the house. "He wasn't at first, but he's gotten much better. He really is a quick learner."
"Maybe I should have you teach Goku." ChiChi grabbed a cookie from the plate on the table and waved it around for emphasis. "He really doesn't have the knack for it, you know. He certainly doesn't listen to me. He just rushes through it, complaining about missing training time." She popped the cookie into her mouth and chewed in frustration.
"Vegeta used to do that, too," Bulma admitted, pouring the other woman a tall glass of lemonade. "But when I made him keep doing it over and over until I was satisfied, he finally slowed down and realized it was just easier to do it right the first time. Now, he's a pro."
ChiChi took a drink, then shook her head angrily as she set the glass down hard enough to shake the table. "Well, I've all but given up on Goku. He's hardly around, anyway." A smile suddenly spread across her face as an idea struck her. "Say! Do you think I could borrow Vegeta? I'd only need him maybe once a month or so. It'd be nice to have it done right at least once in awhile."
Bulma tipped her head and tapped her chin in thought. "He may not agree," she warned, "but who knows what he'd be willing to do to prove he's better than Goku at something. I guess all we can do is ask." She turned toward the house and shouted, "Vegeta!"
"I heard what you were saying," Vegeta called from where he hovered halfway up the side of the house. "And the answer is no! It's humiliating enough in my own home!"
"Could you at least show Goku how you do it?" ChiChi called up to him. "He's never been able to do it properly."
"I'm sure he hasn't," Vegeta agreed, "but I absolutely refuse!"
"Aw, come on, Vegeta," his wife sweet-talked. "You're so good at it! Maybe if you make it a competition..."
"I said no!" he snapped, dropping to the ground. "If a woman can't teach a man to do it the way she wants, she should wash her own damn windows!" He threw his sponge into the bucket in a splash of soapy water and stormed off into the house.