I do not own 10 Things I Hate About You.
Still one of my fav 'teen' comedies.
Vanna White in a Bikini
Everybody thought he was this big, tough guy.
Because he lead them to believe it.
Did all kinds of bizarre things just to mess with their heads.
Because he could.
Because it was fun.
So everyone thought he was this . . . thing.
And he was.
When he needed to be.
But not all of the stories (or most of them really) were true.
It was, what was that big word they used in Lit classes.
Hyperbole.
Embellishment.
Tall tales.
Like last year, for instance.
His whereabouts, not being in Padua High School.
Like there aren't other high schools all across the U.S.
Wanks.
But people had their theories.
Jail.
Driving Marilyn Manson's tour bus.
Sex romps with Spice Girls.
That one he didn't have a hand in.
He honestly didn't know where any of those theories had come from.
But he didn't try and stop them.
They were fun.
And it wouldn't do for just anyone to know where he really . . .
"Milwaukee!"
. . . had been.
"What?"
Milwaukee.
Grandpa had been ill.
His mum's dad.
And his mum . . .
". . . my job and go up there. But I don't have any savings and all of Grandpa's monies go to his treatments so-"
. . . had understandably freaked out.
Recurrent prostate cancer wasn't nothing to laugh at.
That what Grandpa always said.
And he would know.
He'd had it.
Twice.
The first time, Patrick was too young to help, hardly knew a thing about it.
Being a rugrat and what not.
But this time, he was older, more capable, and well, . . .
". . . can't, Patrick, you're just a kid."
. . . it was his grandpa.
The guy who used to take him fishing.
Tell him stories about wandering the Australian outback and hanging out with Aborigines.
Shuck him a little money from time to time.
Just be a granddad.
And Patrick Verona . . .
"Ma, come on, he just needs a little help. I can cook, I can clean."
. . . had insisted.
"He takes the bus to the clinic and he's got all the bills on autopay. It'll be a cinch."
But his mother was never one to let him off easy.
"You can cook?"
And he'd turned the charm up another notch.
"Yeah, well, I mean, I'm not planning on lobster thermidor every night but I can open a can and put it in a pot on the stove."
"You know you have to take the food out of the can and put it in the pot, right? Not just literally the can in the pot."
"Yes, Ma."
"I don't know, Patrick-"
"Come on, Ma. I know this is a good idea."
Right about the time his mother had been trying to figure on finding a job Milwaukee from a job in Boston . . .
". . . house or apartment to rent, ugh . . ."
. . . Patrick Lee Vernon had just managed to convince her to stay put.
And let him go to Milwaukee to take care of . . .
". . . -getti-os, Grandpa?"
"Sure. Got any Parmesan?"
"I think so. Let me check."
. . . his granddad.
"Wanna watch Wheel of Fortune?"
"Sure. You know, that Vanna White looks just like a girl I used to know in Melbourne."
"Does she really, Grandpa?"
"No, not really. But I'd sure like to see her in a bikini."
"Grandpa!"
And so he told her.
Kat.
"No way!"
A little, anyway.
And she smiled big and laughed, of course she did.
Because it was funny.
And he really liked the sound and look of it, her smile and her laughter.
But that didn't make the truth any less . . .
". . . damn chemo . . ."
"Hang on, Grandpa, I got it."
. . . true.
He only wished Grandpa was around . . .
". . . doing?"
"Well, now that I'm in remission, I'm going to find Vanna White in her bikini, that's what I'm doing!"
. . . to see it.
I have no idea why I wrote this.
Or why I wrote what I did.
But it's meant to be lighthearted and funny.
And I have to go back to work tomorrow.
So anyway, thanks for reading! I appreciate that.
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