It started like most wonderfully rare, sunny Whidbey Island days do, with a delightful walk down the island’s main drag, where quaint shops lined the picturesque brick promenade. “Oh, babe, we should pop
 |
| Hm, size six? Oh, I doubt that, dear. Let's hit the 8/10 rack. |
The
girl shook herself a little, as if she were trying to wake herself from a
trance. “Of course not, what can I help you find today?” with a curious head
tilt.
“This
guy is so hard to shop for, but I’ve had enough. It’s time to replace these
raggedy cargo shorts with some nice jeans.”
“Okay,
we might have some that would work for his…um…figure in the back,” the girl
motioned to the clearance section. Meredith made sure Fred’s outstretched arms
didn’t knock over any mannequins on the way to the racks stuffed with oddly
sized apparel. “Do we know it’s size?” the girl asked, her voice shaking a
little.
“I
think you mean his size, and I’m not
sure. We haven’t been together too long so I don’t know his sizes. But you don’t
know mine either, do you Freddie?” Meredith giggled as people did in the
beginning stages of a relationship and gave Fred’s airy middle a light hug. She
was always so aware of Fred’s fragility, how quickly he could spring a leak or
tear and it would all be over.
“I’m going to have Donny help
you since he’s our best sizer,” the girl said as she backed away from Meredith
and Fred cautiously.
Meredith muttered to Fred once
the sales girl was out of range, “Well, she was rude.” She
waited for Fred to
contribute to the conversation for once, but as always, she was met with a
stiff, plastic silence. “Nothing to say? Really?” she turned Fred so he was
forced to meet her gaze. Stop it,
Meredith, she told herself. Fred is
the best thing that ever happened to you.
 |
| Buy online, Mere, where you can let your freak flag fly |
“Donny
will help us, won’t he, baby?” she cooed, trying to convince herself that
everything was okay. “You’re just going to look so sexy in your new jeans. And
we’re burning these shorts by the way.” Fred just looked back at her like he
always did, with a painted-on smile.
“I
hear we’re looking for some jeans?” asked Donny, the peppy salesman who suddenly
appeared behind the couple. “Ah!” he yelled as Meredith almost fell into a rack
of collared shirts with surprise. “What the hell is that?” he yelled, recoiling
in disgust. “Stacey!” he yelled toward the front of the store where the sales
girl who had been helping Meredith and Fred crouched behind the counter,
laughing hysterically. “What the hell! You didn’t tell me I was sizing a blow
up doll.”
“Um,
excuse me. ‘That’ is my boyfriend,” Meredith reached across his middle to grip Fred’s
hand. She winced as the hard, plastic seam gouged into her palm.
“You
do know that is a blow up doll, don’t you, ma’am? Are you under the impression
that you are in San Francisco or LA? This is Mother Effing Whidbey Island. We
wear boat shoes. We drink pinot. We tie our sweaters around our necks like we’re
extras on Saved by the Bell. We do
not bring our goddamn blow up dolls to the shops to play dress-up. We leave
them in Portland at our open-minded brother’s house.”
Donny
took the pen that was hanging on a lanyard around his neck and stabbed Fred
right in the
neck. Meredith flinched at the sound of Fred popping, the sound of
“the end.” She grabbed a stripped nautical sweater from a display table and
headed to the checkout counter. “Gift receipt?” Stacy asked with a smirk.
 |
| The Ryan Gosling Double Standard. |
“No,
I’m wearing this out,” Meredith said with a tight tone. She left her receipt on
the counter, ripped off the sweater’s tag, and looped it around her neck. With
a flip of her honey blond hair, she held her head high and strutted toward the
exit, the only sound in the shop was Fred, hissing as the final glugs of air (Meredith’s
own breath, in fact) exited his deflated, limp body. If she listened closely,
she could almost hear him saying, “Avenge me,” in a sweet, sad whisper.
