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“Uunnnnnh," I groaned, refusing to open my eyes even though it felt like I was buried under a ton of bricks, rocks, and whatever other mishigas came from an exploding antique stove that carried you to parts unknown. "Aaawwwwooouuuugh," I reiterated, wondering how much Dr. Bombay charged for his chiropractic services.
Not only did I land flat on my back on a very cold, very hard surface. Not only was all the breath forced from my lungs, but my eyes damn nearly popped out of my head. To add insult to injury, my head bounced twice, my butt did a triple dribble, then my feet got in on the act and did a few high kicks.
Talk about a shockwave. I was shook and rattled, but thankfully not rolled. A broken nose would’ve truly pissed me right off. (Go ahead, call me vain. All my cousins do.)
“Damn, I wish I’d worn a crash helmet to bed.”
"Or seen who was flying that blasted stove of yours?" Ginger snarled from somewhere above me. "Did you leave the oven on or forget to charge the Magic in the pilot light? Did you use that match Elphaba gave you? You know that girl takes her name seriously. She thinks she should be the star of Bad Witches Club."
“I did not do….”
As usual, she wasn't listening.
"Are you sure it wasn't an operator error? I mean, you can be so forgetful, and with your Auntie's prediction, I know your mind was on…."
“It was on my job, Ginger Minjer,” I yelled. “I most certainly didnotforget anything. If you had just let me sleep, we wouldn’t….”
Getting more pissed with every passing second, I needed to look my fiend of a Familiar in the eye and give her a piece of my mind. The words were flying out my mouth at a mile a minute, and I was madder than a wet Witch. I needed upright, and I needed it right that minute.
Grabbing the first thing my hand landed on, I tossed it to the side and opened my eyes. Imagine my surprise when I was greeted with absolute and utter darkness.
“Ahhhhhh, noooooo, I’m blind! I’m blind. I’m….”
Snatching everything I could reach that was piled atop my head, I flung it here and there and everywhere while screeching at the top of my lungs. "I can't see! I'm blind! Call Dr. Bombay! Call the Aunties! Call the Cousins? Call the Great Goddess! I'm blind. I'm blind. I'm blind!"
“You’re not blind, you boob,” Ginger spat. “That’s my perfectly golden-brown ass stuck to your face. Stop throwing shit around! You’re about to break off a piece of me!”
"Ahhhhhhhhh!" My frightful screams turned to abject horror as I frantically batted Ginger's crusty old heiney and squirmed more than when I'd crash landed in a pile of Louisiana Fire Ants with Auntie Virginia's homemade fudge in my pockets.
Rolling one way then the other, that Gingerbread Demon stuck me like warts on a frog's ass. Shaking my head like a puppy with a chew toy, my neck cracked more times than Chester Skeleyton's bones in his one man show. No matter what I did, I could not rid myself of Ginger's butt, and I was coming close to losing whatever mind I had left.
"Get the hell off my face, you insufferable Imp! Go! Get off! Get off! Get off!"
“Don’t you think I’m trying to, Broom Hilda?”
“NO! NO, I DO NOT!”
I was screeching. I was screaming. I sounded like a toddler who’d lost her binky, and I could not have cared less. I needed Ginger’s backside off my front side, and I needed it sooner rather than later.
Planting my hands on the flattened, crumby cheeks of her ass, I pushed with all my might. I shoved with my right hand, then I pressed with my left. I jiggled them one way, then I jostled them the other. I even tried to unscrew her booty cheeks from my cheek-cheeks, but the closest I got was one, long, wet,squiiiiiiiisssssssshhhhhhhhthat smelled like icing, made my tummy do somersaults and had just a little bit of throw-up land squarely on the middle of my tongue.
“What –*blech*- was -*blech*- that?" I gagged, trying with all my might to separate myself from Ginger before we were fused together forever and ever, amen, while fearing I was way too late.
"It's my icing, idiot," she snapped. "I know you can smell it. Hell, the Noseless Gnomes in Knotting Kneel can smell it. Just shut your mouth and stop breathing on me. Your hot air is melting the perfectly placed icing covering my derriere. SHUT. YOUR. MOUTH. Hold your breath and let me think."
“Hold my breath? Hold my breath! I can’t hold my breath.”
I was screaming. I was wailing. I was losing my ever-loving mind because I wasabsolutelysure my fanatical Familiar had finally found a way to commit the perfect murder. I mean, come on, she'd been trying to kill me since the day we were Magically and Mystically super-glued together.
“I can’t hold my breath. I have to breathe, idiot!”
“Well, duh!”
“Duh?!” I screamed into her butt cheeks.
Instantly swapped in regret, I wished I could suck the bloodcurdling shriek that had flown from my lips, as well as my hot air, right back into my mouth as more of the icing, frosting, sprinkles, and crumbs that made up the bane of my existence adhered her fanny to my face with the ferocity of Phoenix emerging from the Fire. I swear, we were stuck together like the specially-Spelled atomic adhesive on Auntie Esmerelda's fake nails – and that shit could stick King Kong to the Empire State Buildingforever.
Of course, even as icing streamed down my face, into my nose and mouth, and I struggled to catch my breath, Ginger continued to wiggle like a worm on a hook and bitch like Bitching was an Olympic sport, and she was in line for the gold medal.
