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Best Day Yet -*- Copyright 1998 by Ellen Hayes.

Any resemblance between the writings in this work, and any actual
persons or places, living or dead, are purely coincidental, except when
used for satirical purposes.

This work contains adult situations, adult language, adult concepts, and
possibly sex.  If you are legally not allowed to read materials
containing such things, then you will be breaking the law by reading
this.  I am not responsible.
Continuing to read this document, or storing it or reproducing it
in any format means that you explicitly affirm that you are legally
allowed to possess and read such materials in your city, county/parish,
state, and country.

All rights reserved.  See the bottom for distribution rights.


Best Day Yet


***


     Tom was having one of those days again.  This time, the dean of the
college had called him in and told him that since he flunked everything
Friday, that he was being expelled, effective immediately.  His protests
did no good, and he found himself outside the office, the door slamming
in his face.
     His wife showed up, and he told her about it as she walked with him
through the corridors and to their room.  He opened the door, and walked
into something that had a great resemblance to his parent's bedroom.
His wife was already dressed for bed, and she got him in, and kissed him
on the cheek, and went to sleep.  He was going to, but he was trying to
remember something, until it finally came to him: where was
     "Paul!" Tom gasped as he sat up in bed.
     Paul, in the bed on the other side of the room, sat up with a high
pitched noise of confusion.  When both of them realized that Paul was in
a nightgown, Paul made an identical noise and fell back down, pulling
the covers up over his neck.
     "Paul, we have got to have a talk," Tom said, before an emergency
message made its way through his nervous system.  Tom jumped off the bed
and began fighting his way into a pair of jeans.  "In, just, a couple,
of, damnit, minutes.  Don't go anywhere!"  With that, Tom rushed out the
door and down the hall and through the door and towards the urinal and
"Ahhhhhhhhhh..."  Bliss.  The bliss of piss.
     After Tom had recovered from his bliss, he headed back to the room.
"I have got to have a talk with that boy," he told himself.  "There's
something rotten in Denmark, damn me for an Englishman if there isn't,"
he explained to the floor.

     "You're confusing me, Paul.  Take it in very sloooowww smmmmaalll
sentences.  My head hurts."  Tom decided that an aspirin, or maybe
three, would be a good idea.  He got up off the bed to go find some.
"Do we have any aspirin?" he asked when he couldn't find any.
     "Uh, in my, in, uh," stuttered Paul, and dug through something
until he held up a bottle.  Tom held out his hands in a catching pose,
and Paul tossed it straight to him.
     "So," Tom started when he sat back down on the bed, a large mug of
water clutched firmly in his hand.  "You dress up like a girl, right?"
     "I, uh, yeah, I-"
     "'Yes' is good.  'Yes' is short.  'Yes' does not hurt my brain."
     "Uh, yes," said Paul, who was blushing so hard it looked like he
had a sunburn.  A bad sunburn.
     "Why?  No!" he corrected, even though it hurt his head.  "You want
to do it because... because you want to be a girl?" Tom guessed.
     "I dunno," said Paul, and he was going to explain when Tom held up
his hand.
     "That's good.  Now..."

     They walked down the stairs to the Trough, known to school
officials and parents as the dorm cafeteria.  Tom was having a hard time
explaining things to Paul.
     "Look," Tom said patiently, "I don't care, okay?  I do not care.
Wear whatever you want, alright?  Just don't do it where you could get
caught, okay?"
     "But what about-"
     "I was drunk last night, and not thinking," he explained for the
fourth time.  "Not thinking.  If I was thinking, I would have done
something else."  Paul looked like he was going to sulk, or maybe cry.
Tom quickly continued, hoping this time he would get through.  "Because
neither of us want to get caught with you being my roommate and wearing
that stuff.  Because nobody would understand that you, and by extension
me, are not gay.  See?"  Tom nodded in what someone else would have
called sympathetic magic, or perhaps linguo-kinetic manipulation.
     A little intake of breath from Paul told Tom that he had finally
gotten the gist of it.

     They were sitting down, talking about anything else by mutual
unspoken consent, when Bill, one of Tom's friends from chem lab, stopped
by the table.  "So who was that babe you were with last night?"
     "Which one?" Tom lied reflexively.  Paul went sort of pale, Tom
noted out of the corner of his eye.
     "That one at the concert?  Hoo, nice one.  I thought you were gonna
give it a rest for a while when Carol lost her mind," Tom appreciated
the sympathy, "but I guess not.  Where'd you find her?"
     "Asian mail order bride," he lied again, this time getting a laugh.

     "See?"  Tom was constitutionally incapable of letting anything be.
     "Yeah, yeah, okay, I got the hint."  Paul sighed.
     "Well, that's why we have to be careful.  Right?"
     Paul sighed again.  "Right."

***

Distribution:
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Archiving is permitted provided no fee is charged for access.

All rights reserved.

"Tallyho!"      \   /     @>--,--'--  ehayes@nym.alias.net  + vicki .sig
Ellen Hayes --=(*)=(*)=-- Renaissance Woman    ==[--------  + virus 9.1a
            http://www.geocities.com/WestHollywood/Heights/5734/


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