Mary and Daphne #182

When we got home, I couldn’t help but notice Suzy was all over Mary (who is not me) the moment we walked in the door. All wagging ball of puppy fluff dancing from foot to foot and jumping and squealing and crying and piddling. Not that my feelings were hurt, but as I said to Suzy, “Hey! I’m also home.”

Only when she was done with Mary did she take notice of me. I think she loves me just as much but was all tired out from her antics. I know the feeling. I’ve reacted like that when Mary’s come home from a trip before (minus piddling on the floor in excitement). But need I remind that dog who gives her the vast majority of tummy rubs, takes her on walks, and feeds her vegetables from the dinner table when Mary isn’t looking? Me! She’s lucky she chose my lap to snuggle up in that evening or I’d have been very put out.

But I know how much Mary loves that puppy. So much that I didn’t even make a snide remark in the gift shop when Mary bought the dog a shirt. So much that when Mary sat the dog upright in her lap, the dog got bored of the baby talk before Mary did. She hugged that pupper to pieces. I was surprised because she didn’t say anything about missing her while we were gone, but she did fawn over the pictures and the video Nana sent. I’m glad the dog makes her so happy; she makes me happy too.

But the post-vacation honeymoon was soon over, and there we were again, just two very kinky, slightly unhinged people living together. It’s not like I expected the return to regular to suck that second to last day of vacation when I got myself in such a ‘tude. I’d just forgotten, cuz I was comparing vacation fantasy land to real life, just how interesting our real life is.

We got home on a Sunday, and on Friday, as I do almost every day, I made lunch and wooed Mary away from her desk to dine with me (we had sandwiches cuz were such fancy people). Lunch was over, I was gonna do the dishes, and Mary said to me, “Alright, it’s test time.”

To which I responded, “For who? At work?” She’s in IT; I don’t understand what she does, but sometimes they gotta test stuff.

But nope. “Your first summer reading test. Don’t tell me you forgot. I reminded you last week.”

Ooo, dilemma: do I wanna get in trouble for not listening, or do I wanna get in trouble for fibbing (also known as lying)? I’m so smart, I chose both.

Or rather, I thought I was smart enough to pass the test (or cheat; I thought I could cheat), so I said, “O! Of course not. Don’t be silly.”

Mary gave me her uh-huh-yeah-I-bet face, but left me o so much room to dig the hole deeper. “Which book is this test on?”

O gee yeah, thanks for asking follow up questions. Here’s also a good question: what were the books she assigned me? I responded by slowly pronouncing consonants while closely scrutinizing Mary’s face for any sign I was in the neighborhood. “Mmmm hhhh ttttt ppppp …”

Ooo! She titled her head half a degree! Add a vowel! “Paaa pe peeee pi ….” Ooo! She smiled a little (probably cuz she likes watching me squirm). But I remembered! “Pippi Longstocking! Ha. … Was that the whole test?” Cuz that would’ve been sweet.

“Now who’s being silly. Come on; you can take it in my office.”

Wuh? She’s actually going to proctor the test? She is such a nerd! I knew she just wanted to give me something to do during the summer when she assigned me summer reading, but if she told she had a fantasy about being a proctor (or hall monitor or eraser clapper or apple polisher or narc) I would’ve been exactly not at all surprised at all.

“I’ll go get the book.” If I can remember where it is.

“Sorry, Daffy Duckling, it’s a closed-book test. But that’s okay because you read it already, right? When I asked you if you’d read it yet and you said yes? Remember that?”

Ugh; she knew the truth and looked darn happy to not intervene in my reckless quest to get in more trouble. She’s got a good poker face, but I can always see it in her eyes. Why didn’t I stop myself? Because reasons, so shut up.

As to her asking me if I’d read it, Mary asks a lot of questions. It’s super inefficient to listen to each one before saying yes or no. I got a 50/50 shot of being right, and even when I do listen, my average is at best 80/20. Sometimes I think she phrases questions in funny ways to entrap me, but a dedicated lifestyle dominant wouldn’t do that, right? Or ask questions she already knows the answer to in order to trick me into revealing my less than stellar behavioral choices? Like, o, say, right then?

Well, two can play at that game (whatever game that is … verbal chicken?). “No problemo. I know the book backwards and forwards.” It’s a kids’ book. How hard could it be to guess?

Mary escorted me to her office where she had the test printed out (nerd!). And guess what? “This isn’t multiple choice.” Fuck.

“Yeah,” she replied as she sat down at her desk, probably already planning all the things she was gonna do to me. Scratch that: she keeps a running list in her head. She knew exactly what she was gonna and had probably been fantasizing about it all through lunch.

“I just expected multiple choice is all. Is … is there a time limit?”

“Nope.”

“Um, I hafta go the bathroom.”

“I can fix that,” was her clever retort, “Gimme your phone.”

Dammit to heccin fudge muffins! I’m not even allowed to cheat!?! What kinda summer reading program is this? Pedagogical tyrant! That’s what she is. Hmmph!

Not that either of us was prepared to back down (cuz we’re both too mature to back down; yep, it’s a maturity thing, not an immature competitiveness thing like, at all … even a little bit … really). I tried very hard to suppress a glare as she shut her laptop (dammit!), took my phone (fuck nuggets!) and left, only to reappear in under a minute with a Goodnite. I really (super heccin really!) shoulda put up a much bigger fuss when she started keeping that stuff on the first floor of the house. Not that it would’ve done much good …

“No need for interruptions now,” she announced like it was great grand wonderful news as she simultaneously pulled my shorts down and my panties with them (the seahorse ones; not the sexiest pair I own but way better than the latest Disney princess on the pull-ups), and bade me step into the pull-up. She pulled it up snug (very snug; take half a second to ask yourself why she likes to do that), and squeezed my butt. “All set for a tinkle during your test.”

“But I have to, you know.”

“Then you can have a diaper, or you can use the potty, but you won’t be taking any reading material or electronics into the bathroom,” was her rule-bound proctor’s response. Professional buzzkils; that’s what proctors are. And this one was grinning at me like a she-wolf. “You’re looking kinda pouty there, kiddo. Something you wanna say?”

“I’m thirsty. Can I get some water?”

“Swallow your spit.”

Woah! How super aggressive. Unnecessary. But I’d address that later. Just then, rolled with it cuz I’m smooth like that.

“I’d rather swallow yours.” Actually, btw, ew. Gross. But worth a shot, right? Mary’s libido isn’t exactly dormant.

“Nice try. Anything else?”

So many things I wanted to say. In fact, I wanted to say all the things, but that’s rarely an act that gets me anywhere except deeper in trouble. “Just that I’m gonna ace this test.”

It’d be like one of those movies where the one teacher thinks the students are failures and the inspirational teacher helps them succeed and shows up the bad teacher! But instead of an inspirational teacher, I had me, a historically semi-successful practitioner of the guess-and-hope method.

Of course I was such a good rule follower growing up that I never missed a single homework assignment or got worse than a C even in the subjects I sucked at (mostly got As and Bs, for the record), but since attaining grownup status, I’d adopted a new philosophy on life: I’m a good rule follower, unless I don’t wanna. Which is totally a legitimate life philosophy that doesn’t make me not a good rule follower and that everyone has to respect because reasons. Really.

Skipping ahead in the story to the part where she graded my test out loud …

“Why is she called Pippi Longstocking? ‘Because she has long socks.’ Good guess, but the correct answer is that’s her name.”

Once again, I failed to apply the principle of Occam’s Razor. Dammit.

“What pets does Pippi have? ‘A dog and cat.’ A monkey and a horse, sweetie. What superhuman thing can Pippi do to her horse? See right there, where it says ‘her horse’ in the next question?”

“I should’ve connected the dots on those questions.”

“You should’ve connect the dots on those questions. You wrote ‘talk to it.’ Nope; she can lift it.”

“I get half credit for that, right?” Hmm, Mary’s this-isn’t-funny-but-I’m-laughing-on-the-inside face. What could that mean?

“What are three things Pippi has in common with Daphne? ‘1) She has red hair. 2) Stuff. 3) Things?’ Why did you put a question mark at the end of ‘things?’”

“Because I … don’t know why.” What is this, a quiz?

“I would’ve accepted she’s cute and sweet, she doesn’t wanna grow up, she tells tall tales, her manners need some improvement, she can be very loud, she’s rebellious, she’s beautiful, she’s unconventional, she likes to go on adventures, she likes to misbehave, and she wants to be a pirate.”

“I disagree about some of those. And I’m so over my pirate phase; that was, like, five years ago.” Get with the times, Mary. And while some of Pippi’s qualities I’m happy to share, no way do we have some of those in common. Tall tales? Misbehaves? Doesn’t wanna grow up? As if! … Hey, Daff, you never put your shorts back on to cover the bedwetter pants. Shut up!

But my answers were correct anyway, as I explained the Miss Mary Test Tyrant. “That’s stuff. And those are things too. I got all three points.”

“One point for the hair color.” I remembered that from the cover.

“And lastly, summarize the plot of the book … Daphne, this is the plot of the Scooby Doo episode you watched during breakfast.”

“Um, no it’s not?”

“‘Scooby and Shaggy then ran from the ghost but it was really the butler who didn’t want anyone to buy the mansion after his boss died.’”

“Maybe we just took different things from the book? No two readers are alike, ya know.” Mary’s try-again face. “I read it in the original language?”

“Which is?”

“ … Portuguese?”

“You just lost your only point.”

“Dammit.” Hmmph!

Proctor Mary was displeased (though pretty sure she was heccin pleased too). “You didn’t do your homework, you failed the test, and you fibbed multiple times.”

Silence prevailed. “ … … O, were you waiting for me to say something?”

“You got detention, little girl.”

“Aw, seriously?”

“Yes, seriously. I have a half a mind to give you swats right now and again after school.”

“There is no school!”

“Life is a school, Daphne.”

“For what, to prepare for death?” And also, OMG COULD SHE HAVE COME UP WITH A WORSE CLICHÉ! I’m embarrassed that I love everything about her.

As for my response, see how I disarmed her whole (ridiculous) point (that she didn’t even seriously mean … I hope) by carrying it through to its logical conclusion, thus showing how nonsensical it is? I am, too, smart! ‘There goes Daphne,’ people say, ‘too smart for her own good.’ They really say that! I just didn’t read the book because I was busy not reading the book (and you can try to prove me wrong, but that’s bulletproof logic).

But try telling any of that to Mary the Ninja Master who was on her feet, spinning me around, and smacking the backs of my thighs before I could even … something. I’m sure if she was just a little slower, I’d have stopped her with some awesome countermove that I would’ve improvised on the spot. I’m a great improviser. ‘There goes Daphne,’ people say, ‘never know what she’s going to say or do next.’ Yep, that’s a thing people say about me. Really.

“That,” Mary said with a hard slap that left a handprint, I’m sure, “is for being a smartmouth. Report to detention at 3:30.”

“You’re stopping work early?” Yay!

“I have a naughty student to deal with, and you can leave that wet pull-up on until then.” It wasn’t wet, uh, for the record. Really.

And good thing I didn’t roll my eyes or go, “Hmmph!”

“You want those swats now? You wouldn’t be the first student of mine to get two spankings in one school day, little girl.” Yeah, because I was that student of hers, like, four or eleven times in school years past.

“Can I at least put my shorts back on?”

“If you’d like.” And I’m somehow the smartmouth?!? Hmmph!

“These feel different,” I casually remarked when my shorts were back on.

“That’s cuz you’re wearing training pants under them, sweetie.”

“I meant the Goodnite … meanie.”

“It’s not a Goodnite. They’re called Ninjamas. If you prefer the Goodnites though, you can wear those all weekend until they’re gone, and then we can go to the store and you can pick out any training panties you want. I promise.”

“No, thank you. These are fine.” MEANIE!

“You sure,” she said to me with her aren’t-I-being-so-pretend-sweet-to-Daphne face (with matching tone). Grrr!

“I’m sure. Can I go over to Nana’s or am I grounded until the fake detention?”

“You wanna run away to Grandma’s and tell her how mean I am to you?”

“Basically, yes.” There! I said it!

“Of course. Just be back by 3:30.”

“K.” And I turned on my heel to huff my way out the door. But nope, the ninja (of course she bought something called Ninjamas! Of course she heccin did!!!) had one more thing she wanted to do to me

A big hug and several kisses. “I love you muchly.” Aw geez!

“I love you more,” I replied and meant it.

“Be a good girl at your Nana’s.”

“I’m always a good girl.”

“Yeah you are.” OMG! She thinks I’m always a good girl! Not to brag or anything, but also yes.