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foldingfittedsheets · 4 months

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When I was young I was dating this absolute cocknob right as I graduated high school. More on that later.

As a present ostensibly to me (but mostly my folks) I was whisked away after graduation to spend two weeks in Europe with my parents. The plan was to see London, Paris, and Heidelberg.

I was moody and a teenager and was largely disgruntled by this fabulous adventure. I went along with sullen foot dragging and black looks. I commandeered my reprehensible boyfriends enormous black hoodie and wore it on the trip. At the start of our jaunt into London I mentioned offhandedly to my mom that it was burning when I peed.

“You’re just dehydrated, and your period is about to start.”

She was right on both counts. I upped my water content, and had my period (which may have contributed to my overall ill humors.)

So we found ourselves in a tiny hotel in Paris, a week into our jaunt, when I repeated, “Man, it just really burns when I pee.”

“What?!” my mom demanded.

“I told you like a week ago that it was burning.”

“Augh! Now we have to go to the hospital!” she proclaimed.

“What?! Why?”

“Because,” she snapped, “You have a bladder infection.”

More bickering ensued, and my temperament was not improved by knowing I’d told her I was having an issue a week ago and been ignored.

My dad heard about the itinerary shift with resignation and we trooped down the narrow stairs as a family to ask the concierge where the nearest hospital was.

The absolutely lovely man at the desk was immediately so concerned when we asked for directions. “Is everything okay?” he asked with very genuine sympathy and I muttered that everything was fine, we just needed a quick visit.

Lucky for us the hospital was only a few blocks away. We walked there and the building was massive, home to what appeared to be several separate wings but no obvious main entrance.

We wandered inside and it was like a weird dream. There was no one around. Huge echoing corridors met us as we peered in vain for a front desk or possibly signs. We searched with increasing frustration for anyone to talk to and somehow found ourselves in some tiny back offices.

A woman sat at her desk and looked bewildered to see three lost Americans approaching her. She greeted us and as a family we all simultaneously realized the massive flaw in our current course.

You see, dear reader, we did not speak French. My dad and I both spoke German. I inquired politely if she also spoke German and she shook her head looking increasingly cornered. We asked if she spoke English.

“Leetle…?” she replied.

“My daughter has a bladder infection! Blad-der?” My mother declared this at a high volume as if volume alone could bridge the communication gap, while simultaneously miming over my stomach, circling where she presumed my pelvis was under the gigantic black sweatshirt.

The woman’s expression turned extremely skeptical and she slowly repeated “Bladder…” She scrutinized me for a moment then said, “You go…. This?” And pointed to something purple on her desk.

“The purple signs?” my dad asked.

She nodded and we set off. I was stewing with resentment at my mom for having ignored my first complaint when we were in a country that spoke English. And also generalized hostility about being on the trip and the object of miming. Now here we were in a French hospital, lost and unable to communicate. I also was under no illusions that someone who didn’t know the word for purple would have any clue what bladder meant.

And slowly I realized what had actually happened as I peered at the purple signs. My mother circling my stomach with her hands, gesturing to my middle. The woman’s skeptical face.

“Hey mom,” I chirped, syrupy and smug. “I don’t speak French. But I do know that it’s a Latin based language. And wouldn’t you know, but that purple sign looks an awful lot like it says ‘maternity’ to me.”

“Shut up!” she snapped.

A few minutes later we stood surrounded by the moans of pregnant people and the cries of fresh new lungs wailing at their first taste of cold air.

I smiled sweetly at my disgruntled mother.

Luck was with us however. A nearby father noticed us and came over to ask if we needed help. With perfect English he gave us clear directions.

As we finally approached the right area for walk in services it was clear how we’d missed it the first time. A large swathe of the front of the building was covered in tarps. A huge wall sized window was broken, and construction was taking place, but at least it had a bustle of people and a clear line. We sat down in the queue of chairs.

While we sat some police officers came in. They walked up to a man ahead of us in line and with few words exchanged they handcuffed and led him politely away.

I was genuinely so out of reality. Every new thing that happened was like a bizarre dream from the empty hallways to the maternity ward and now this tarp strewn waiting room in which people could just be calmly arrested.

It was a shock to me then when we reached the front and the nurse spoke with perfectly unaccented English to assess me. Not only did she know bladder but a whole slew of other medical words I couldn’t guess at. I peed on a stick and we waited.

When we got the results she told me it was good because they could give me antibiotics today for my now confirmed infection, but bad because I’d need the doctor to sign off. I nodded and my mom and I were escorted to yet another small room to wait.

When the doctor arrived I felt suddenly gangly and awkward. I’m not tall but I towered over this tiny French woman who radiated calm composure. She seemed to be around my grandmothers age. She looked up at my blushing face and said, “Bladder infection?” Her English had a much stronger accent than the nurse but with the same medical competence.

I nodded.

She nodded too and we sat in a still contemplative moment on my UTI.

“Do you have… boyfriend?”

My face was on fire, every cell of me wanting to flee from this tiny perfect old woman. I nodded.

She nodded too. We sat still in the knowledge that I had a boyfriend and a UTI.

“Do you and your boyfriend do… it?” Her delicate accent stretched it into “eet.”

I don’t know if she didn’t know the word for sex or if she thought saying “it” was kinder but I wanted to melt into the floor and cease to exist to escape my increasing mortification and her meaningful pause. I nodded.

“Okay,” she said kindly. “When you and your boyfriend do… it… you must make pee pee.”

I writhed slightly under the psychic damage of this elegant medical professional saying “pee pee” and I nodded more emphatically hoping she’d desist this torture.

She continued. “If you and your boyfriend do… it… five times? You make five pee pees. If you do it ten times, you make ten pee pees.”

My face had never been hotter, all the blood in my body had volcanoed to my head, pounding in my ears and valiantly attempting to give me an aneurism to end my suffering. There is no mortification as acute to a teenager as an adult talking about sex and here was this medical professional telling me about… it.

Meanwhile, my mother. Who should have been regretting her poor parenting and reflecting on her neglect in failing impart this vital part piece of sex ed to her kid. Alas, she was laughing herself sick the corner. She added to my embarrassment by quietly repeating “pee pee” and “it” under her breath as she wheezed and chortled.

The doctor patted my hand kindly and handed me the antibiotics. I got to spend the rest of my trip in Europe avoiding direct sunlight and listening to my mother parrot “Do you do… eet?”

#ramblies #funny #story #writing #teenage angst #there’s a couple stories I tell that my betrothed has to hear on repeat cause they’re party pleasers #this is one such #ffs foibles

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westvocap-ocbracket · 11 months

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FINAL ROUND!

Temnova Vs. Anya Vs. Cakey

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exinewine · 3 months

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HOSAB and HOFAS SPOILERS AHEAD!!!

Just a passing thought...

But did ya'll notice that neither Elain or Lucien were at the townhouse when Bryce arrived? The entire IC was there... but they were not? Where were they? Are they baking together? Is he giving her flowers some extra sunshine while she gardens? Are they at a ball together being their regular socialite selves? WHERE WERE THEY SARAH?!

#elain is a socialite #being a people pleaser and introverted are NOT the same #our girl loves balls and parties dont get it twisted #we know her best #lucien vanserra #pro lucien vanserra #elucien #pro elucien #anti elriel

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1lifeinspired · 6 days

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Cheese Breadsticks - Countryside Cravings

#breadsticks #cheese #bread #recipes #food photography #appetizers #parties #gatherings #celebrations #comfort food #crowd pleasers

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planetsandthefates · 11 months

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im going to need 13 more years to process you're losing me and an additional 33 years to process the bridge alone

#taylor swift #you're losing me #sarah talks #FIGHTING IN ONLY YOUR ARMY #FRONTLINES DON'T YOU IGNORE ME #I'M THE BEST THING AT THIS PARTY #AND I WOULDN'T MARRY ME EITHER #A PATHOLOGICAL PEOPLE PLEASER #WHO ONLY WANTED YOU TO SEE HER #IM FADING THINKING #DO SOMETHING BABE SAY SOMETHING #LOSE SOMETHING BABE RISK SOMETHING #CHOOSE SOMETHING BABE I GOT NOTHING TO BELIEVE UNLESS YOU'RE CHOOSING ME #*feral incoherent noises mixed with sobbing*#im SO normal about this goddamn song

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jonah-archives · 2 years

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art dump 3

#vflower #v flower #flower vocaloid #ferry vocaloid #the monochrome mentality #riproducer #appetite of a people pleaser #ghost and pals #abnormality dancin girl #guchiri #guchiry #reckless battery burns #tamari ghost #katya #katya pafl #parties are for losers

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ask-icancraft-it · 10 months

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Caught (Extended)

(( An extended version/different perspective of the ‘Little Moment’ I wrote titled ‘Caught’. It’s been a long time since I sort of dove in to how nasty and controlling I feel Gene can be, particularly towards Felix, who doesn’t know how to handle it. This has potential to be a multi-part fic, but we shall see! )) -----

“Has anyone seen Felix?” Gene raised his tiny arms in exasperation. The Nicelanders bustling around him shook their heads and shrugged.

“Oh I’m sure he’ll turn up soon! Don’t you worry,” Mary plastered on a smile, carrying a freshly baked pie.

“No, something is wrong. I can feel it,” the mayor wiggled his mustache after polishing off his morning martini. “I’m going to check on him.”

Gene had knocked a total of three times on the superintendent’s apartment door, which was uncharacteristically locked. Luckily for him, as the landlord, he had a copy of the keys. Flipping through his ring, he inserted the correct key into the knob and opened the door to a quiet living room.

“Felix?” Gene huffed as he searched the area. His eyes narrowed as he turned to the closed door into the handyman’s bedroom. Determined to get to the bottom of things, the tiny man burst in through the door, his anger growing when he spotted a sleeping lump in the bed.

“Felix!” he shouted. “What’s gotten into you? The arcade opens in five minutes!”

The handyman shot up, shirtless, slowly followed by a second figure; a tall, blonde woman with hardly anything on.

“What the—Who the?!” The mayor could barely string words together, his face turning red.

“Gene!” Felix squeaked, hopping off the mattress, just in his boxers as he attempted to usher the Nicelander out the door. “Please! Let Miss Calhoun and I get decent!”

“You?!” Gene remembered that name, having briefly met the sergeant at a party a week ago. He’d hardly recognized her without all that ghastly armor on.

“Nice of you to remember me,” Tamora smirked over her shoulder, pulling up her camo pants.

“Her?!” the mayor spat at Felix. The handyman’s face soured and he pushed Gene through the bedroom door, locking it.

Felix's face glowed bright red as he turned around to face his lady. Grabbing two fistfuls of his light brown hair, he let out a long, tapered whine as he suppressed a scream.

“I knew this would happen,” he berated himself. “I mean, I didn’t know. But I did.”

“Deep breaths, Fix-It.”

“How are you so calm?” the 8-bit was beside himself. “You were half naked in front of a strange man!”

“Being one of the very few women in the corps, you get desensitized to that pretty quickly,” Tamora explained. “Sorry to tell you, but you’re far from the only man I’ve ever undressed in front of. Besides, who cares what that little squeaker toy thinks?”

“I do!” the handyman lamented as he pulled up his jeans. “Tammy, I live with these people. I work with them and for them every single day. For thirty years I’ve been their perfect, dedicated and trustworthy hero. And now that pretty picture they’ve painted of me will forever be tarnished…”

“You sure know how to make a girl feel special,” the sergeant quipped.

“I’m serious, Tammy,” Felix whimpered. “You don’t know what they can be like, how Gene can be when he disapproves…”

Tamora’s wry smile withered, but before she could reach out a fevered knocking rapped at the handyman’s door.

“Three minutes!” Gene shouted from the other side.

“Save yourself, my lady,” Felix whispered, throwing open his window that led out to the fire escape. Handing the sergeant her cruiser as she ducked through the opening, he gave a quick peck on the cheek. “I’ll see you at quittin’ time.”

“I’ll be waiting,” she smiled, grasping his white shirt collar to give the handyman a proper parting kiss. He couldn’t help the pang of uncertainty as she took off.

Turning around, Felix grabbed his work shirt, slipping it on before thrusting open his bedroom door.

“Uh-huh,” Gene huffed, zoning in on the open window behind the hero. “Sneaking off like a two-bit criminal. You sure know how to pick ‘em.”

“Do I?” Felix spoke impassively, brushing past the mayor and finishing buttoning up his uniform.

“Oh you sure do,” Gene insisted, shadowing the handyman as he walked to the entryway where his toolbelt hung on the wall. “First Pauline, and now…this woman!”

“Tamora,” Felix corrected, exiting the apartment with the mayor at his heels. “And as I recall, you all did the matchmaking when it came to Pauline and I…”

“Biggest mistake I ever made,” Gene huffed, bumping into the handyman when he turned around.

“Can I remind you that the major problem you had with Pauline is that she had an amicable relationship with Donkey Kong, and advocated the concept that ‘good’ and ‘bad’ went beyond our programming? And now we all know that she was right.”

His point made, Felix continued down the hall and to the stairwell, ignoring the tenants that peeked out of their apartments curiously as the arguing pair strolled by.

“She was a troublemaker, and a bad influence,” Gene huffed, trying to keep up with the handyman as they descended. “And clearly this Tamora is no different.”

“I’m starting to think that you just don’t want me to be happy,” Felix said in an eerily calm tone.

“That’s ridiculous. We just want the best for you. We’ve done nothing but love and support you all these years!”

A pit formed in the handyman’s stomach, all too familiar with his turning point in their arguments. Face flushing and heart beat rising, Felix wished for an escape as he burst through the double doors to the outside. Tucking in his shirt and pulling the rest of himself together, he made for his starting position.

“It’s always like this with you,” Gene wagged a stubby finger, barking at the handyman’s ankles still. “One little thing doesn’t go your way, you act like a petulant child!

Felix stood on his mark, brows furrowed and heart crumbling.

“Arcade’s opening,” he murmured, hesitant to say more. He unconsciously held his breath until the mayor left his side to enter the building. Letting it out with a shaky exhale, the handyman steeled himself, eager to get through the day…

“Uh, hey–” a welcomed voice approached gently.

“Ralph,” Felix spun around, struggling to tamp down his agitation as he put on his gloves. “Do me a favor and please throw our dear mayor as hard and as far as you can today.” He took a moment to look up into his friend’s wide, unblinking eyes. “Just chuck him, please.”

#fix it felix #wreck it ralph #nicelander gene #Gene has done some work on the little handyman over the years let me tell you #This is why I feel Felix simply rolls over at the 30th anniversary party #he's a people pleaser and has learned not to fall out of genes good graces #and its a heard thing to break out of #caught in two ways #crafty writes

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heartofthra · 2 years

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