Community Service

Community Service | Part Three

Community Service | Part Three

            "Hey, hey Wonder Woman, how many tickles does it take to tickle a squid?"

           I roll my eyes, crossing my arms together, and stare at Ross as he grins at me and scrapes his green plate clean. He's been going on for the past thirty telling me awful jokes while finishing off plate after plate of enchiladas.

            "How many?" I ask, too tired to think of an answer, and Ross starts laughing even before he replies, tossing his head back like a maniac. I’m almost concerned for my safety, but the fact that he thinks I’m as fabulous as Wonder Woman makes him a little more benign.

            "Tentacles!"

            It's hard not to crack a little smile, but I purse my lips with great effort and swipe Ross' plate away from his hands before he can scrape right through the plastic.  Watching drunk Ross is like babysitting an easily pleased toddler who is questionably high on something.

            "Hey, hey Wonder Woman, I would tell you a chemistry joke, but they're argon."

            Shaking my head, I stare down at drunk Ross, trying to stay mad at him for blowing up chemistry class, but finding it difficult with his half-eyebrow-sloppy-grin-superhero-name-calling look. Even when he's drunk, I can't believe that he's still coherent enough to be incredibly cheesy and punny. My smile fades as Ross seems to lose all of his energy and slumps over, and I realize that my mother's upstairs while I have a drunk boy in the dining room.

            Oh god, please don't let Ross puke all over my Brown application.

            Beyond letting Ross clean out the enchiladas pan, I really have no idea as to what I'm going to do with him. Half of me wants to drag him out onto the lawn with a picnic blanket so that he can sleep off his idiocy with the squirrels and bird shit, and the other half wants to drag him onto the leather couch with a bucket and some aspirin. It's like choosing between doors one and two, but lucky for Ross, I'm feeling nice today.

            Dropping into the seat next to Ross, cursing how he could still look so good while I was in dire need of coffee and a brush and a mirror and clothes other than old sweatpants and a t-shirt, I hesitantly poke Ross' forearm. "So, you tired Ross?"

            He raises his head an inch and open a blue eye to look at me, a bit confused. "Can't I just sleep on this table? It's as comfortable as a panda's ass." I give him a strange look as he snuggles against his arms and drops his head. The panda simile throws me off for a solid minute, wondering how he could have ever experienced such a thing.

            "Okay, let's go." I finally mumble, sighing as I get up and dust off my pants. He gives no response as I nudge him, leaving me no choice but to haul him across the kitchen into the living room. He's incredibly heavy, a complete dead-weight, and doesn't even stir when I accidently bang his head against the edge of the kitchen counter. It's like trying to carry a huge stuffed-with-hundred-pound-weights dog that's twice the size of me, except that I can already see a bruise forming on Ross' forehead. Which may or may not make me feel better about helping my arch nemesis.

            When we finally make it to the couch, I have to hoist him up, arms first, then legs. As I'm trying to reorganize his body so that he can fit on the couch, I trip over the edge of the rug, landing right on top of his chest.

            With an oomph, Ross lurches upwards, rubbing his eyes and then staring down as I scramble to get up. It's incredibly difficult because I'm trying not to plant my hands anywhere on his body, and end up just falling backwards onto the ground. Ross has turned into a silent drunk and he just gives me a befuddled look before slumping back onto the couch. No puns, no superhero references included.