Welcome to PAD's frozen food aisle.

Stephenie Meyer owns the whole Twilight Grocery Franchise.

I just want Edward's bag of peas.

Rip Van Cullen

It's a good thing both of my morning professors cancelled classes today. Even though I have an evening one, I should have plenty of time to get my shit together before then. I know what you're thinking, what kind of nineteen-year-old heterosexual male schedules himself to take a class on Thursday nights? The answer is apparently the kind who's looking to pick up some unassuming, pre-party tail, that's who. It has been my observation that female, Thursday-night students are much smarter and more driven, in addition to being significantly more challenging—challenging as in ones who spark my keenly competitive interest while remaining invitingly more provocative than the girls who generally avoid evening classes altogether. That being said, it's assured that Edward Cullen never walks away from a challenge. With the pursuit of feline counterparts to look forward to tonight, I'm glad I don't have to make it out of here on time considering what I have to deal with at the moment.

I honestly can't believe I was capable of the destruction I created in here just trying to cook breakfast for Bella. It took me over an hour just to pick up all of the broken eggs and mop down the floor. I don't know how Bella does the breakfast thing let alone the cooking thing, seven days a week. I definitely have a newfound appreciation for her, given that most mornings she barely has enough time to clean up the kitchen, take a shower, and do her hair. She's pretty amazing considering I'm only marginally coherent then.

Although I'm tempted, I can't just leave the mess; Bella wouldn't put up with it, and it would be a dick move on my part if I stuck her with it.

I sigh because I still have to do the coffee pot, frying pans, breakfast plates, glassware, ceramic mugs and some utensils. It would be easy to put them in the dishwasher, but at this point I am a little afraid of messing with another kitchen appliance. I don't need another Stooges, Lucy, or Peter Griffin moment. I'm not up for any new challenges, at least not this morning, but I think I can handle washing the dishes by hand.

I put in the stopper thing and squirt about a half-cup of some dish goop into the sink before turning on the hot water. Goop. I snort because I hope my goopshooter can recover before tonight. My nads took a pretty hard hit from the stepladder when I slipped and fell onto it this morning trying to yank the battery out of the smoke detector.

As I'm waiting for the hot water to fill, I go to the fridge to grab a drink and am way tempted to chug out of the jug but remember my conversation with Bella and think otherwise by grabbing a glass instead. As I'm putting back the milk I chose, I spy what Bella's probably cooking for supper—pork ... tenderloins. Could it be any more obvious that a higher power is messing with me?

"Uhgggh."

My stomach is starting to engage itself in some rampant gurgling, and I remember what Bella said about how eating that much of her pie could produce laxative effects. Rumble, Gurgle urrrrrrrrr. I bolt to the john in record time and evacuate more than I care to comment on at the moment but make note of it so I can share my bowl-filling conquest with the guys later. I even clean the basin and spray some Lysol before departing. Bella would be so proud.

I turn my attention back to the kitchen. What was I doing again? Dishes. "Oh shit, the sink! "

Suds are now rabidly frothing over the top of the counter and down the front of the cabinets. I kill the water and grab a dishrag to beat down the soap. White, compact bubbles shoot upward attacking me. God this is way too much effort just for a lousy breakfast. I wonder if any of the greasy spoons around here do pancake or omelet deliveries.

I delve my sponge into the sudsy abyss to start cleaning the dishes. Yikes, that water's hot! I add a little more from the cold spigot to even things out. Then I start washing. Wow, these plates are real slippery. It reminds me of "dog slime" when I used to clean our retriever's water dish. I'm still washing and figure I'll rinse everything at once. I continue my digressing and think about how many times I've overheard Mom and Bella making fun of my domestic incompetence. Contrary to what they think, I have paid a little attention to what goes on in a house. I know how to take out the trash and sort things needing to be recycled. I know how to heat water, too.

I know this because I used to boil my football jock strap when I was in high school. Those things can get really nasty, and let's just say I value some of my parts more than others. When my mom found out what I had been doing during the whole season, it "squicked" her out so much she "Salvation-Armied" away her thousand-dollar-cookware set just because she couldn't stand the thought of my anatomy coming in contact with her cookery.

I get a twinge of pain and think it's time to finally pull out the green pea ice pack from my boxers and sweatpants. It's kind of a squishy mess now, and I briefly consider placing it back in the freezer just to get a rise out of Bella, which in turn, sometimes gets a rise out of...Well, you catch my drift. I'm bad, so what can I say?

Litigate me.

Sometimes our bantering awakens Rip Van Winkie. It's because Bella's way hot when she gets pissed, and sometimes I do stupid shit just to get her going so I can rub one out. Rip Van Winkle was a lazy fuck with a nagging wife. She just wanted some cooperation from her deadbeat husband. Yes, I see the irony, but the major difference is that I don't want to get away from Bella. I love it when all of her gets provoked because then parts of me get evoked. It's a win, win. She lives for and loves laying into me. There's just something seriously stimulating about an enraged Bella, which in turn gives me something raging.

"Ow!" I get another pang of pain, which brings me back to its cause. I consider myself lucky. I thought that that stepladder was going to do me in earlier. My nads are still pretty sore, and it hurt like hell after I slipped and fell.

When I could finally open my eyes, I looked up to see Bella just as she came in and took charge. Even as I lay in excruciating pain, I absorbed her dominating presence. She sped around the kitchen like a fuck hot heroine straight out of an erotic comic book: hair flowing, hands flying, and tits swaying. The only thing missing was bright neon spandex and designer shitkickers. If I wasn't in so much pain, I'm sure my Washington Monument would have made an appearance.

"Ssssssss." I suck in the hiss as there's more pain. Cullen, stop thinking about sensuous details and focus on the dishes. I begin rinsing the things I washed and am nearly done. I pick up Bella's red plates, the ones that are the color of her fuckme-Friday-night lipstick. Alluding to a Jeopardy reference, I quip, "Alex, I'll take 'Carnal Pleasures' for a thousand." Just then my man downstairs decides he wants to join the party again.

"Mother fffffuuckker! " I moan. Geez Cullen, shut your horny ass down and just focus. God, my balls hurt. I hear the front door and jingling keys. I turn quickly when the last slippery plate slides out of my hands. Smash!

It hits the tile I just cleaned.

"Hey! Well, look at you. Don't you just look the part of a domiciled divo.

I give her the one-eyebrow raise and my "are-you-shitting-me" expression.

But, I also feel compelled to now divulge that I'm wearing one of Bella's frilly French maid type aprons and have a clothespin pinning my messy hair up and away from my forehead. I'm also sporting bare feet, dish pan hands and dried suds in my hair.

Good times.

A/N:

A divo is the male equivalent of a diva.

Rip Van Winkle is a story by Washington Irving. Rip, a lazy SOB, takes some cool-off time away from his nagging wife, climbs up a mountain, helps carry a keg, watches some silent guys play a variant of bowling, drinks their liquor then sleeps it off for twenty years.

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Next up: Edward's Bedroom.

Thank you to my wonderful, selfless, extraordinary, beta, Chayasara, for fixing my ridiculousness.

Special thanks to Monica Solis, a.k.a. CaliGirlMon on FFN, for making my banner.

Mwah!

Thank you for reading.

PAD