Happy Birthday To Three!
Jul. 5th, 2010 10:34 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
crossover_chickSpecifically, Happy Birthday to Jennifer Parker/Claudia Wells, Huey Lewis, and my dad. We've had a pretty good day over here -- the muses have been holding their own little celebration for Jennifer (including taking care of the 10:04 post). As for the real world, my family actually ended up coming back home early -- the state park we went to was FILTHY. And I mean FILTHY. There was trash EVERYWHERE. And the employees seemed more interested in getting into trash fights than actually cleaning up.
-J: Eugh.-
Yeah, I know. We barely stayed a hour and a half. But we had a pretty nice time just hanging around the house, and Mom and I still got in our walk.
-J2: That's good, I guess.-
Yeah, considering I don't know the status of the walk tomorrow. It's supposed to be another hot one, and I've got work. . . *shudder*
Anyway -- since today is a BTTFy birthday, I figured I should post fic. Even if the only thing I have ready is George-centric. Still, writing is writing, and I really do want to knock off another Drabbles88. So, here we are:
74. Glasses
George roamed through the house, making a series of annoyed grunts in the back of his throat. Why did this always happen to him? It was the same situation each time – he’d sit down to read a book, or outline a new story, or balance the household budget, and right when he was ready to start, he’d realize something very important was missing. His glasses.
Why oh why do I have to have reading glasses? he thought for the tenth time, poking through the night stand in his and Lorraine’s bedroom. The damn things are more trouble than they’re worth. Always getting lost, or broken, or just reminding me that I’m getting old. My eyes were fine up until five years ago! What was it about forty-two that made them decide that I couldn’t read anything that wasn’t printed in billboard-size type without help?
The night stand contained only gum and a hairbrush. He sighed and headed back into the hall to continue his search. Why did his glasses always disappear whenever it was least convenient? George had tried keeping them on a string around his neck for a while, but somehow they’d always slipped free. He’d also tried getting a special case – after he lost that along with the glasses, he’d given up. There was no stopping these things from disappearing into the dimensional n-space that probably also contained all the missing socks from dryers, loose change lost in couch cushions, and wandering tribes of dust bunny warriors. Actually, that sounded pretty interesting – maybe he should write it down. It had been a while since he’d written anything truly humorous. . . .
A knock at the front door distracted him. Pulling out his trusty mini-notebook and scribbling down a few notes to remind himself of his idea (even if he could barely see them at the moment), George went to see who it was. Opening the door revealed Doc Brown on the front step. “Oh, hi Doc,” George said, trying not to sound as distracted as he felt. “Surprise to see you here.”
“Marty’s helping me scour some junkyards today – I said I’d pick him up,” Doc shrugged. “Is he ready?”
“Think he’s on the phone with Jennifer at the moment, but he’ll be out in a sec, I’m sure.”
Doc frowned at him. “You seem a little frustrated, George. Everything all right?”
George sighed. “Well, not really. I’ve lost my glasses. Again.”
Doc was silent for a moment. Then he reached out and pulled something off George’s forehead. “These?” he said with a faint smile, holding out the glasses.
George stared at them for a moment. Then he grabbed them and stuffed them in his shirt pocket, trying to ignore Doc stifling his chuckles. Wonderful, he thought irritably. Another reason to hate the damn things – they’re a reminder the guy twenty years my senior has better eyesight!
-M: You're so mean to Dad.-
It's all in the name of humor! And I really can't believe I didn't come up with this before. My parents are losing THEIR glasses all the time. Of course, since I usually focus on Doc and he doesn't wear glasses. . . . I was just lucky to remember George's ending dialogue from Part III while looking over the prompts. After that, the words just pretty much flowed out. I'm sure all my glasses-wearing compatriots can sympathize with the poor guy.
-D: I'm almost tempted to offer George a rejuv on his next birthday because of this. They can fix your eyesight during that process.-
Heh, I think he'd appreciate it. For some reason, my Georges seem to hate their glasses. They don't wear them often, but whenever it comes up, it seems George is complaining about them. Ah well, if he loses them half as often as this story suggests, he probably has a right to be grouchy. Especially when you consider that, yes, 65-year-old Doc DOESN'T need them.
-VD: Lucky genetics. We'll probably lose our hearing faster.-
With all those sonic booms? Hell yes.
Well, enjoy your fic, everybody! I'm off to find some Jennifer clips on YouTube.
-J: Eugh.-
Yeah, I know. We barely stayed a hour and a half. But we had a pretty nice time just hanging around the house, and Mom and I still got in our walk.
-J2: That's good, I guess.-
Yeah, considering I don't know the status of the walk tomorrow. It's supposed to be another hot one, and I've got work. . . *shudder*
Anyway -- since today is a BTTFy birthday, I figured I should post fic. Even if the only thing I have ready is George-centric. Still, writing is writing, and I really do want to knock off another Drabbles88. So, here we are:
74. Glasses
George roamed through the house, making a series of annoyed grunts in the back of his throat. Why did this always happen to him? It was the same situation each time – he’d sit down to read a book, or outline a new story, or balance the household budget, and right when he was ready to start, he’d realize something very important was missing. His glasses.
Why oh why do I have to have reading glasses? he thought for the tenth time, poking through the night stand in his and Lorraine’s bedroom. The damn things are more trouble than they’re worth. Always getting lost, or broken, or just reminding me that I’m getting old. My eyes were fine up until five years ago! What was it about forty-two that made them decide that I couldn’t read anything that wasn’t printed in billboard-size type without help?
The night stand contained only gum and a hairbrush. He sighed and headed back into the hall to continue his search. Why did his glasses always disappear whenever it was least convenient? George had tried keeping them on a string around his neck for a while, but somehow they’d always slipped free. He’d also tried getting a special case – after he lost that along with the glasses, he’d given up. There was no stopping these things from disappearing into the dimensional n-space that probably also contained all the missing socks from dryers, loose change lost in couch cushions, and wandering tribes of dust bunny warriors. Actually, that sounded pretty interesting – maybe he should write it down. It had been a while since he’d written anything truly humorous. . . .
A knock at the front door distracted him. Pulling out his trusty mini-notebook and scribbling down a few notes to remind himself of his idea (even if he could barely see them at the moment), George went to see who it was. Opening the door revealed Doc Brown on the front step. “Oh, hi Doc,” George said, trying not to sound as distracted as he felt. “Surprise to see you here.”
“Marty’s helping me scour some junkyards today – I said I’d pick him up,” Doc shrugged. “Is he ready?”
“Think he’s on the phone with Jennifer at the moment, but he’ll be out in a sec, I’m sure.”
Doc frowned at him. “You seem a little frustrated, George. Everything all right?”
George sighed. “Well, not really. I’ve lost my glasses. Again.”
Doc was silent for a moment. Then he reached out and pulled something off George’s forehead. “These?” he said with a faint smile, holding out the glasses.
George stared at them for a moment. Then he grabbed them and stuffed them in his shirt pocket, trying to ignore Doc stifling his chuckles. Wonderful, he thought irritably. Another reason to hate the damn things – they’re a reminder the guy twenty years my senior has better eyesight!
-M: You're so mean to Dad.-
It's all in the name of humor! And I really can't believe I didn't come up with this before. My parents are losing THEIR glasses all the time. Of course, since I usually focus on Doc and he doesn't wear glasses. . . . I was just lucky to remember George's ending dialogue from Part III while looking over the prompts. After that, the words just pretty much flowed out. I'm sure all my glasses-wearing compatriots can sympathize with the poor guy.
-D: I'm almost tempted to offer George a rejuv on his next birthday because of this. They can fix your eyesight during that process.-
Heh, I think he'd appreciate it. For some reason, my Georges seem to hate their glasses. They don't wear them often, but whenever it comes up, it seems George is complaining about them. Ah well, if he loses them half as often as this story suggests, he probably has a right to be grouchy. Especially when you consider that, yes, 65-year-old Doc DOESN'T need them.
-VD: Lucky genetics. We'll probably lose our hearing faster.-
With all those sonic booms? Hell yes.
Well, enjoy your fic, everybody! I'm off to find some Jennifer clips on YouTube.
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no subject
Date: 2010-07-06 10:21 am (UTC)When I was reading I thought to myself, I bet they're on his head and, lo, I was right. Heheh.
no subject
Date: 2010-07-07 12:57 am (UTC)Oh yeah. XD And guess what happened today? Mom lost her glasses, and it turns out they were clipped to the front of her shirt. More proof I write from real-life here.