“But you read these all the time. You probably know all the stories.”
“I’d avoid headlines with Florida Man in them if I were you. Whoever has the highest number of points by the time you’re discharged wins.”
“You’re on. You can go first. Read me a headline.”
Rick grinned and tapped at his phone’s screen. “Security Camera Catches Prowling Suspect Licking Doorbell for 3 Hours.”
I clapped my hands over my mouth so I wouldn’t laugh. A cackle burst out of me, which didn’t help my headache at all. I snorted in my effort to contain my mirth. A giggle slipped out, and I dissolved into helpless laughter. “Well, some poor bastard wasn’t home when that happened. That’s just weird.”
“I’m giving you a point for directly quoting the article. ‘That’s just weird’ is the general consensus on this one.”
I struggled to control my giggling enough to talk. “But why lick a doorbell? That poor homeowner. How long did it take to sanitize that disaster?”
“According to the article, an entire weekend.”
“Was the doorbell licker high?”
“No idea. He wasn’t caught.”
I cleared my throat and drew in deep breaths until the urge to cackle subsided. “That’s a pretty good headline. I can understand the allure. If I had an awful job like yours, I’d be looking for those headlines, too.”
Rick grinned and handed me his phone. “I haven’t read any of the articles on this list, so pick one and go to town.”
I scrolled through my selection until I found one about a rambunctious tree rat. “Wanton Squirrel Scarfs Egg Roll as Twitter Drools.”
“The internet was obviously bored and hungry. I’m going to guess it happened in San Francisco, as their Chinatown is the largest in the United States.”
“Half point for bored and hungry internet, but it happened in New York.”
“I should’ve guessed that,” he groused. “New York squirrels are plentiful and bold. Is the article mostly a vid?”
I nodded and returned his phone. “The squirrel’s true crime was forgetting the sauce.”
“Now that’s just a pity. You can’t have egg rolls without the sauce.” Like me, Rick took his time scrolling through the list. “Here’s a good one. Baby Bunny Causes Bomb Scare in Australia.”
I could think of at least a hundred ways a baby bunny trapped in a bag could unleash utter mayhem in an airport. “He was left in a bag, and he wiggled around inside, thus inspiring fear of a bomb?”
“I’m giving you a point for that. They named him Boeing.”
I’d never known a baby bunny named Boeing could sound so wretchedly adorable. “That’s just too damned cute, Rick.”
“It really is. No one knows why the bunny was abandoned, but the article states Boeing now has a happy home.” Rick gave me his phone, shaking his head while smiling.
Rick’s motivations for reading the headlines clicked, and it was something I’d do if stuck between a rock and a hard place. “You read these as feel-good stories, don’t you?”
“Mostly. The rest of the news is depressing. Sometimes, I read about Florida Man to remind myself there’s no way I could ever do something that infernally stupid.”
I understood. In keeping with the wildlife theme, I hunted until I found a bird headline to go with the bunny and the squirrel. “Rhinestone Vest-Wearing Pigeon Reunited with Family.”
“Why would anyone put a pigeon in a vest? Why was it wearing rhinestones? It seems to have flown off, but it’s wearing clothes. Can I have half a point?”
“You can. So, what’s your guess?”
“1920s party, and someone brought their pet pigeon, but it flew away.”
I laughed, as reality was far stranger than Rick’s guess. “The vest is a diaper so the bird can fly in their home without leaving poop everywhere.”
“Take away my half a point. I’m not worthy.”
Still laughing, I replied, “I never would have guessed a pigeon wearing a diaper.”
“I’m still stuck on someone having a pet pigeon. Add in the vest, and that’s a spectacular article.”
“It really is. It gets better. The owner replaced some of the pigeon’s bling with Swarovski crystals.”
“That bird is obviously loved and spoiled.” Rick snickered and shook his head. “The world is a strange place.”
That it was.
The hospital grudgingly released me in the morning, and as to plan, my brother and his menace of a bride left on their honeymoon. I foresaw disaster, but as I’d done since learning he wanted to marry a thoroughbride, I kept my opinions mostly to myself.
My game with Rick ended in a draw, which I found a lot funnier than he did.
“The scoring of this game is obviously flawed,” he announced while wheeling me towards freedom. “I should have won.”
“You would have, if you hadn’t forfeited half a point to the bling-encrusted pigeon,” I reminded him.
“For one brief moment, victory had been mine.”
“Very brief. All of twenty seconds.”
“How is your head feeling?”
“It’ll feel a lot better when I have my milkshake. Then I’m going to go home, review all the wedding receipts, and figure out how much that damned wedding ultimately cost, how much she lost him in cancelled bookings, and how long it’ll take me to pay everyone back for standing in. I’d appreciate if you didn’t tell my brother about that. He’ll get pissy.”
By pissy, I meant he’d blow his top. Both of us blowing our tops at the same time wouldn’t work well. I was about three hours from my first midlife crisis, and damnit, if anyone pushed me, I’d be sorely tempted to bail town, disappear, and show up on Christmas and Thanksgiving because if I didn’t, I’d disappoint our parents.
I could cope with two days each year dealing with my brother’s bitch of a bride.
I needed to get over my grudge sooner than later for the sake of my sanity.
“Your brother doesn’t care about money when he should,” Rick conceded.
“Where have you been all his life? Why aren’t you a woman? You could have married my brother instead. That way, he’d have a sensible wife instead of a walking, greedy disaster.”
“I’d make a terrible woman.”
He’d probably be a gorgeous woman so far out of my brother’s league it hurt to think about it. Hell, Rick was so far out of my league it hurt to think about it. He was so far out of my league I considered asking him to invoice me for wasting his time. “Think about it this way: man or woman, your dog will still love you.”
“I’m not sold on the whole being a woman thing. I love women.”
“Women who love other women are called lesbians. I’m friends with a few. They’re cool chicks. They’d love she-you.”
“Can I stay he-me, please?”
“Got a lady you like?”
“I do.”
Bummer. “Lucky lady.”
“She has no idea how lucky she is. I’ve no idea how to approach her. I’m strapped for time,” he admitted. “Hey. Would you consider planning a wedding for hire? As a professional planner? You did a spectacular job with your brother’s wedding. I’d pay handsomely.”