“Hmmm. Well, good luck,” Marge says.
“Do not encourage him,” I say angrily. I then think on my feet. “I’ve got other guys on the go, already.”
“Like who?” Marge asks.
“Yes, like who?” Grumpy asks, sounding like a killer.
“Ted over there,” I say, eyeing some guy and waving my hugespoon.
“Phah!” Marge says, “Ted’s ninety and can’t get it up.”
“Not helping,” I say low between my clenched teeth.
The senile troublemaker leans back towards me. “What’s wrong with him?”
“Yeah, what’s wrong with me?” Grumpy asks, crossing his big arms.
“He’s broken!” I say.
“I’m fixed!” Grumpy says calmly and with too much confidence.
“Was it sex? Was he bad at the sex stuff?” Marge asks way too loud.
“No,” I sigh, rubbing a temple and wishing I was invisible. “He could dothat.”
“Yikes,” Marge says. “Then how is he broken? And who cares about the rest?”
I cannot believe how I got in this situation, and I shake my head in frustration.
“Look,” I say, turning to Marge. “He hurt me, and he told me to go. He needs to learn to control himself.”
“I was also wrong,” Grumpy says, as if sorry.
“And…” Marge asks, somehow now some kind of mediator.
I am about to spin with my spoon and tell the Marge-Harry show to take a hike. I am a second too long because Grumpy screws it all up.
“I can’t live without her.”
“What?” I gasp.
“And I need her to marry me!”
“No way in hell,” I huff as I spin to the idiot.
“Oh, we love weddings,” Marge says, now beaming.
“No, we hate weddings,” I say, furious.
“Look, we’re technically still engaged!”
“Not a thing,” I say, plopping potatoes down and trying to move on.
“That’s all you got?” Marge asks.
“No,” Grumpy says, distracted.
His gravy delivering is failing, and people are now blocking up. The growing audience is doing my head in, too.
