"I gotta get out of here, Margot," Mom told me as I reached for the last chunk of pineapple resting on the soggy paper plate between us. I swatted a fly away before I raised it to my mouth, my subsequent lip-smacking a welcome ripple in the thick silence(more) that settled over Santa Monica Park for Mobile Homes.
"Mhm," I said, tapping a cigarette on the arm of my lawn chair. When Mom had her Leaving goggles on, she didn't say anything when I smoked.
Our neighbor Lydia, a pearl-clutching numpty of a woman, peered out at us from her trailer just as the suffocating air, smoke, and syrupy pineapple juice coalesced in my throat into a fit of tubercular coughing. Lydia came outside and pretended to straighten her garden gnomes while casting admonishing looks in our direction, which my mother coolly ignored. I reached around my back and gave her the finger.
"We need to start a business together," Mom said, her voice suddenly taking on a manic clarity. I looked up at the clouds and "Ooh"ed and nodded at the right times while she free-associated, gesticulating wildly, her waist-length hair spilling this way and that.
"You know what happened to the last person that moved away," I said, a sly smile pulling at my lips.
"Yeah, I fucking know. Dammit, Margot, you can be such a dark little cunt."
She got up and slammed the door of our trailer. I waved at Lydia, who was now peering at us through her blinds. I settled down deeper into my seat and eyed the ocean of wheat that surrounded me on all sides. We were all right where we belonged.(less)
"Are you kidding?! It's *delicious*!"
She ate some more and with her mouth full said, "Yes, fine, it is delicious. It's ugly, though."
He shrugged. "So? Delicious things are ugly. Pigs are ugly."
"Mmmm, yes." Another bite. "You know, this would probably go great with pig. We(more) should try that when we get a chance."
"Mmm hmm," he chewed. "But what do we call it?"
"I'm up for suggestions."
"Well, it's a fruit... but it looks like a pine cone, ya know? What about... 'pine-apple'?"
She stopped chewing and put her fork down. "That's the single stupidest thing I've ever heard. This will never be called a pine-apple."(less)
The whole thing feels like I'm shitting a pineapple out whole, but without the wallet full of cash and high-fives I would have gotten for winning a "EAT A WHOLE PINEAPPLE" bet. Mistakes were made.
The moral here--if real life had morals--is that if you're gonna do something(more) stupid, at least arrange a friendly bet with someone who thinks you won't be that stupid. You might have to go to new bars more regularly, meet new people who haven't yet realized how stupid you can be, but hey, man, that's what our parents were talking about when they said life moves fast, if you don't stop to look around every once in a while it'll pass you by. Did I say parents? I meant Ferris Bueller's Day Off.
Speaking of parents, with that coo-coo-coo coming from the other room, and my pain slightly subsiding, I guess I've gone ahead and become the first man to birth a baby. I won't be able to care for it, won't be able to be a real parent, at least not after today, which sucks. They'll whisk him/her/it away and they'll continue to run experiments on me until they're sure I'm going to live like normal and don't piss too weird anymore or whatever. Then they'll kick me out and let me go and in two weeks I'll be back in some random bar, four beers in, ass still sore, telling tales of man-birth to whoever will listen. No one will believe me, but boy how I'll talk.
Then in a couple more drinks, when I'm good and sloshed, a friendly bet will lead to another not-so-friendly bet, and so-on-and-so-forth until I find myself in the shitter again, just hopefully not giving birth to a child next time.