Living their lives

If I get pinched on the bottom one more time, I will kill someone! Vegeta sat at the table, and immediately put his aching feet on the second chair.

"What's wrong, Mommy? Do you have blisters?" Bulla asked, looking over her ice cream cone. "Want me to rub your feet?"

"No, I am fine." I don't want me feet getting touched with sticky, dirty hands. There's a reason I like to wear gloves all the time, and it's because I hate dirt. "Just a tad sore."

"Want some of my ice cream?"

"No."

"How come you didn't get any?"

"Because I don't like it." He kicked off the painful stilettos and leaned back in the chair, surveying the crowded scenery.

They were in the food court section of the mall, near a Dairy Queen. While he had bought his daughter some chocolate ice cream (on a cone with sprinkles. God help him if he forgot the damned sprinkles), he had his ass pinched for the sixth time that day. By the time he span around, the perpetrator was lost in the sea of people.

Unfortunately, Bulla had spotted a table and chair obviously made for the younger children. The chairs were in the shape of different animals, like monkeys and rabbits, and the table was multicolored, a rainbow of yellows, pinks, blues, and oranges. It was an absolute eye sore, and of course, the young girl would make them sit there. Using her pouty face of doom, of course.

"Isn't this pretty? I bet Daddy would hate it, though. He's always wearing either black or dark blue."

Does she expect a man to wear pink? He thought of his first day living here, when Bulma forced him to wear that shirt and yellow trousers. I felt like a flower… "He likes wearing those colors."

Bulla shrugged, moving her eyes above who she believes is her mother, and then beaming a hundred mile wide smile. "Hey! Lookit, it's Uncle Goku!"

"What?" Vegeta turned around, and sure enough, there was Kakarott and his wife, Chichi. The tall Saiyan looked his average clownish self, and the woman looked like she was bitching about something as usual. Oh Gods, no. Don't let me see-

"UNCLE GOKU!! AUNT CHICHI!!" His daughter screamed at the top of her lungs, waving her ice cream in the air like a deranged monkey.

They smiled, waved, and walked over. The prince smacked his forehead with the palm of his hand, and thought of jumping up and making a hasty retreat. Yeah right. Not with these sore feet. Damn shoes. Why would any woman want to wear such painful shoes?

"Hi, Bulma. Hi, Bulla," Kakarott greeted them with a grin. "What're you guys up to? Shopping?"

"Yep! Wanna see the new dresses I bought?" Bulla asked, already pulling out the articles of clothing from the bags.

Vegeta turned to the younger Saiyan, blowing a strand of hair out of his face. "Kakarott, what are you doing here? I didn't know you shopped?"

"I don't. Not really. But Chichi is making me get a job. Has the interview set up and everything. I gotta get some new clo-" He paused for a split second. "Did you just call me Kakarott?"

Shit. I did. That's right, they all call him that Earth name. "I meant, Goku."

"Vegeta's rubbin' off on ya, huh?" Kakarott laughed, patting him too hard on the back.

"Goku, now's not the time to be dawdling. We need to get you a suit!" Chichi yanked on his arm in a futile attempt to drag him.

"Alright, alright. I'm goin'. See ya, guys. Tell Vegeta and Trunks I said hi!" And then they were gone, lost in the crowds.

Vegeta laid his head on the table, and groaned loudly. His feet hurt, his back hurt, the blasted hair kept falling in his face, and his eyesight was horrible. I didn't know how horrible it was to be a woman-an Earth woman, at that.

The car was a new model, perhaps only a few years old. Kept in excellent shape, glossy red paint, smudge-free windows, freshly vacuumed, stainless upholstery the color of coal, and made of velvet. There wasn't a scratch on it, and if one ever touched it, the owner would find the person who did it and personally rip their spine out.

That was why Bulma was afraid to touch it. I need a ride…but I don't want to risk it! Ugh! Such a pain! She blew out a breath of anxiety, slid her hand under the handle, and opened it. The scent of apples lightly wafted out. Of course he would use that scent. Weirdo. "Okay, I just hafta scoot in, careful as can be and-"

"Hey, Dad!" Trunks yelled, causing his mother to smack her head off the ceiling of the car. "Whatcha doin'?"

"Ow!" She cried, rubbing the sore and jumping around, eyes tearing up. "Owie, that hurt really, really bad!"

"It was just a bump on the head. I've seen you take much more pain then that. Are you sure you're alright? You did seem off this morning."

"I-I'm fine," Bulma grumbled, trying her best to ignore the pain. Stupid Saiyans and their indestructible ways. I forgot that they don't get as hurt as easily as us normal people do. Gotta watch out for that. "Er, I was just showing you how not to act when hurt."

"Oh. Okay…wanna spar later today?" Trunks asked, bouncing a basketball in his hand, obviously planning on going to the park across the street, probably to play with Goten.

"Um. Sure." Why did I just say that!? I don't know how to spar! "I mean, you know. If I have the time."

"Cool! See ya later!" He ran off, of course not looking both ways before crossing the busy street.

"Bad boy! You didn't look both ways!" Bulma yelled, and he regarded her with a you're-acting-like-a-freak-today look.

Mumbling to herself, she slid into the car, felt for any bumps on her head, closed the door, and started the engine with the keys Vegeta had left for her. Shifting the gear into reverse, she backed up out of the driveway, and then, after switching back to forward, she drove down the street, towards the grocery store about a mile away. She knew that husband of hers wouldn't pick any of the groceries, so she would do it, even if it meant embarrassing herself (and Vegeta, of course)

When she turned on the CD player, the Eagles started playing, 'One of These Nights.' What is it about him and his taste in old songs about sex? Next, I'm going to hear 'Stroke Me' by Judaist Priest. Gods, he can be a pervert, sometimes.

She turned into the small parking lot, very cautious about avoiding cars, light poles, and other things. In the front, was a section, neither spaces to the sides filled. All by itself. She crossed her fingers and pulled in. "So far. So good," she said aloud, and hoped the guy who had stopped to look at her didn't think she was crazy.

"Nice car, man," the guy said as she slid out of it. "Sweet color. Is it a Corvette?"

"Er, yeah. I think. I don't know, this is my husband's car, he'd know."

His eyes widened momentarily, then he just backed away. "Uh, yeah. I have things to do…" He ran into his own car, a dark blue van, and sped away.

Realizing her mistake, she slapped her forehead, then yelped in pain. I have to be careful in this body. He's much more stronger than me. The spot where she had smacked throbbed, and she knew a bruise was on its way.