(I fail at giving you them in an actual relationship.)
Sam entered her office with the intent of dropping off a report. Nothing more, nothing less, just needing his words condensed. He found himself sidetracked by pie; it was a trap set up by a devious Republican with blonde hair, a beatific smile, and molasses like drawl.
The folder hung forgotten in his hand. “What is that?”
Ainsley looked up from her computer screen. “What is what?” He pointed. “That.”
“This?” She tugged the plate closer to her, moving it to sit on top of a stack of files.
“Yes, that.” He decided to cut their conversation short before they continued on in circles. “Because it looks like pie.”
She raised an eyebrow, an amused look on her face. No doubt she was thinking how stupid he was and were all Democrats like this. “That’s because it is pie, Sam.”
“Really? Because it doesn’t look like pie.”
She smiled and pushed it back across the desk towards him. The oval shaped pie was fat, puffed up and swollen, the brown crust darker than a normal tan. “It’s fried apple pie. Would you like some?”
“From McDonald’s?”
Her smile dropped and she looked appalled. “No. From home. I took a few vacation days this past weekend. It’s from the North Carolina State Fair to be exact, which, to be honest and completely unbiased, is better than any other states’ around us. Tennessee, Georgia, Virginia, South Carolina. Certainly our food is better. Like the fried apple pie.”
He stared now, trying to keep his face from changing into something that would no doubt find him in trouble. “Do you know how unhealthy that is?”
She shook her head. “No. And I don’t care.”
He continued on. “The calories, the fat, there is nothing good in that for you.”
“Are you implying that I am unhealthy?”
He used the folder to make jabbing motions. “Not to mention the damage all that sugar would do to your teeth.”
Pulling the plate back towards her again, she said, “I’m rescinding my offer. You definitely don’t get any. And there are these things called toothbrushes, Sam.”
He ignored her and rolled on. “But see that’s the problem with Americans today. Nobody cares about proper dental care. Forget dental hygiene, nutritional health has completely decreased over the last several decades. People are satisfied with eating substandard quality fast food. All because it’s convenient and easy—”
“Sam—”
“Forget actual home cooked meals with real food.”
“Sam!” She shouted this time, his name echoing off the pipes.
He stopped, finding himself facing a Gilbert and Sullivan poster. He must have started pacing at some point. He turned back to her. “Yes?”
“You are ruining my pie,” she said the words slowly, blue eyes serious and face still.
“Right,” he nodded. “Sorry.”
She eyed him from her chair. “Did you actually come down here for something?”
He handed over the folder, quiet after his outburst. “Yes. Memo on the new legislative affair for alternative energy sources.”
Humming in the back of her throat, she opened to the first page. “And you’re worried about the language as well for Republicans, I’m guessing.”
That had been implied for him.
“I can get it back to you this afternoon,” she said, turning to the next page.
“Thank you,” he rocked back on his heels after a silent minute. “Well, I’m going to go now.”
“I’m going to enjoy my pie.”
He looked at the brown dough. “Are you sure you—”
She didn’t look up. “Good-bye, Sam.”
He retreated. He needed someone without a huge sweet tooth to listen to his ideas.
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timeasmymeasure
deep fried and extra fatty, G, (1/1)
Date: 2010-11-12 03:51 am (UTC)Sam entered her office with the intent of dropping off a report. Nothing more, nothing less, just needing his words condensed. He found himself sidetracked by pie; it was a trap set up by a devious Republican with blonde hair, a beatific smile, and molasses like drawl.
The folder hung forgotten in his hand. “What is that?”
Ainsley looked up from her computer screen. “What is what?”
He pointed. “That.”
“This?” She tugged the plate closer to her, moving it to sit on top of a stack of files.
“Yes, that.” He decided to cut their conversation short before they continued on in circles. “Because it looks like pie.”
She raised an eyebrow, an amused look on her face. No doubt she was thinking how stupid he was and were all Democrats like this. “That’s because it is pie, Sam.”
“Really? Because it doesn’t look like pie.”
She smiled and pushed it back across the desk towards him. The oval shaped pie was fat, puffed up and swollen, the brown crust darker than a normal tan. “It’s fried apple pie. Would you like some?”
“From McDonald’s?”
Her smile dropped and she looked appalled. “No. From home. I took a few vacation days this past weekend. It’s from the North Carolina State Fair to be exact, which, to be honest and completely unbiased, is better than any other states’ around us. Tennessee, Georgia, Virginia, South Carolina. Certainly our food is better. Like the fried apple pie.”
He stared now, trying to keep his face from changing into something that would no doubt find him in trouble. “Do you know how unhealthy that is?”
She shook her head. “No. And I don’t care.”
He continued on. “The calories, the fat, there is nothing good in that for you.”
“Are you implying that I am unhealthy?”
He used the folder to make jabbing motions. “Not to mention the damage all that sugar would do to your teeth.”
Pulling the plate back towards her again, she said, “I’m rescinding my offer. You definitely don’t get any. And there are these things called toothbrushes, Sam.”
He ignored her and rolled on. “But see that’s the problem with Americans today. Nobody cares about proper dental care. Forget dental hygiene, nutritional health has completely decreased over the last several decades. People are satisfied with eating substandard quality fast food. All because it’s convenient and easy—”
“Sam—”
“Forget actual home cooked meals with real food.”
“Sam!” She shouted this time, his name echoing off the pipes.
He stopped, finding himself facing a Gilbert and Sullivan poster. He must have started pacing at some point. He turned back to her. “Yes?”
“You are ruining my pie,” she said the words slowly, blue eyes serious and face still.
“Right,” he nodded. “Sorry.”
She eyed him from her chair. “Did you actually come down here for something?”
He handed over the folder, quiet after his outburst. “Yes. Memo on the new legislative affair for alternative energy sources.”
Humming in the back of her throat, she opened to the first page. “And you’re worried about the language as well for Republicans, I’m guessing.”
That had been implied for him.
“I can get it back to you this afternoon,” she said, turning to the next page.
“Thank you,” he rocked back on his heels after a silent minute. “Well, I’m going to go now.”
“I’m going to enjoy my pie.”
He looked at the brown dough. “Are you sure you—”
She didn’t look up. “Good-bye, Sam.”
He retreated. He needed someone without a huge sweet tooth to listen to his ideas.