Do you know how hard it is to write conclusions to comedy? Maybe. It is really hard for me; I still have a few more scenes to go through before the party, but I can't ever figure out just how to do it. I meant to have a whole lot written this week, but I just finished this bridge scene to my satisfaction. Anyway, the table of contents is here. Comedy is hard because if it falls flat, it really falls flat. Drama is easy; just write the phrase "the puppy died," and BAM! instant drama. What can you do to get comedy? Probably something with monkeys.
I like this scene because it is just Lucy and Christine being themselves. Sort of the calm before the storm. But it is so painfully short. Oh well, maybe I just need to ramp up the writing again.
* * *
I didn’t sleep at all Friday night. Christine woke up to find me still at the kitchen table making the last bit of alterations to my dress. I had decided on frilly, feminine and pink. It fit with the theme, I liked pink, and Jon hated girly. So, win-win.
“When do you have to be there?”
“Not for awhile. I might get a nap; do you want breakfast? I want breakfast. Let’s get breakfast.”
“Someone has had her morning coffee,” Christine said yawning. “Do you really need me there? I kind of want to call and back out of this pseudo date you put me on.”
“I need you there Christine,” I said. Which was only half-true. I just needed anyone who might jump up if this exploded in my face and take a punch for me. Christine, despite being small, was built like a tank under that dainty frame. I think she could take a punch to the face.
“Have you ever been punched in the face?” I asked. She shook her head. “I’m just asking. Can we go get breakfast at IHOP? I want pancakes, but I don’t want to make pancakes.”
“I can make them,” Christine offered. My nose wrinkled instinctively.
“Do not waste my pancake batter on such heresy,” I said, grabbing my purse from across the table. “We’re getting pancakes, and I’ll pay.”
“I don’t want to go out. I’m still in my pajamas.”
“It’s IHOP. Everyone is in their pajamas on Saturday morning. Even the cashiers.”
“Your lies are so sweet and silky Lucy, but I know better. Last time we went there, everyone was in their Sunday best.”
“That’s because it was Sunday Christine. I was wrong about the date. It isn’t my fault, you’re in charge of flipping the day-by-day calendar. I believe you said that the next quote of the day was lame, so we were sticking with the old one.”
“Churchill is lame, Sigourney Weaver is awesome. I think we made the right decision.”
“Go get dressed,” I said. “Then, pancakes.”
For once in her life, Christine listened to me. That was the first in a series of strange events, but I didn’t think a lot about it then. I just thought about how good the pancakes would be.