Title is from a Katy Perry song. I'm music-snobbishly pleased that I had to Google it, which is ridiculous because I am such a music philistine, really.
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"Come on in," Lisa says, opening the door. "She's making vodkaffles."
"What in God's name is a vodkaffle?" Hayley asks, shedding her coat. Ainsley appears in the kitchen doorway, holding a bottle of vodka and grinning like a loon. Jennifer crowds into the apartment.
"You're flashing the Bat Signal over there Ainsley!" She says happily, toeing off her heels. Hayley sighs and kicks the shoes into the corner, returning the entryway to some semblance of order.
"Really? Vodka in waffles?" She asks.
"It's Friday night!" Ainsley says. "I'll put whatever I want in the waffles. Do you know anywhere around here where a girl could get her hands on some absinthe?"
"That's very, like, Vincent van Gogh of you," Hayley says, at the same time that Jennifer, in her best swooning Southern Belle accent, says, "Oh what wild and crazy shenanigans you get up to. Vodka in waffles! Whatever will your parents say?"
"Ew, van Gogh," Ainsley says, and flicks waffle batter in Jennifer's general direction.
"I see what you're doing there, Hayes, trying to get me liquored up via food fight," Jennifer says, attempting to lick her own nose.
"Don't you have a Young Republicans thing tomorrow?" Hayley asks, passing Jennifer a wash cloth. Ainsley sighs.
"I am the Young Republicans on this campus. And I plan on being very lenient with myself, no matter how many hangover-induced typos are in the minutes of my meeting. My meeting with me."
"It's not just you," Lisa says, letting herself into the apartment. "It's you and that girl with the Thomas Jefferson quote tattooed on her ankle. Also, I see that you've started the festivities without me. Also also, why didn't I know we had vodka in the house?"
"Because I wanted to get to use it, duh," Ainsley says. "Just because you want to vixenishly seduce that guy from the bookshop on Main Street does not mean that you get to steal my liquor to do it."
"It should," Lisa says, pouting. "And why don't you come down there with me some time? I'm sure your winsome, blond ways would have him saying more than 'Have a good day, ma'am.'"
She sinks morosely into the armchair. Jennifer gives her a comforting pat on the arm.
"Because, everyone in that bookstore hates me," Ainsley replies, stirring the waffle mix with wild abandon. "You ask one time if they're planning to stock the Reagan autobiography and you're practically banned for life. I ask you!"
"Oh honey," Hayley says with a sigh. "You mentioned Reagan, really?"
"I'll mention whomever I like," Ainsley says. "And don't start critiquing my politics or you won't get any vodkaffles."
The West Wing - Ainsley - Last Friday night, yeah we danced on tabletops
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"Come on in," Lisa says, opening the door. "She's making vodkaffles."
"What in God's name is a vodkaffle?" Hayley asks, shedding her coat. Ainsley appears in the kitchen doorway, holding a bottle of vodka and grinning like a loon. Jennifer crowds into the apartment.
"You're flashing the Bat Signal over there Ainsley!" She says happily, toeing off her heels. Hayley sighs and kicks the shoes into the corner, returning the entryway to some semblance of order.
"Really? Vodka in waffles?" She asks.
"It's Friday night!" Ainsley says. "I'll put whatever I want in the waffles. Do you know anywhere around here where a girl could get her hands on some absinthe?"
"That's very, like, Vincent van Gogh of you," Hayley says, at the same time that Jennifer, in her best swooning Southern Belle accent, says, "Oh what wild and crazy shenanigans you get up to. Vodka in waffles! Whatever will your parents say?"
"Ew, van Gogh," Ainsley says, and flicks waffle batter in Jennifer's general direction.
"I see what you're doing there, Hayes, trying to get me liquored up via food fight," Jennifer says, attempting to lick her own nose.
"Don't you have a Young Republicans thing tomorrow?" Hayley asks, passing Jennifer a wash cloth. Ainsley sighs.
"I am the Young Republicans on this campus. And I plan on being very lenient with myself, no matter how many hangover-induced typos are in the minutes of my meeting. My meeting with me."
"It's not just you," Lisa says, letting herself into the apartment. "It's you and that girl with the Thomas Jefferson quote tattooed on her ankle. Also, I see that you've started the festivities without me. Also also, why didn't I know we had vodka in the house?"
"Because I wanted to get to use it, duh," Ainsley says. "Just because you want to vixenishly seduce that guy from the bookshop on Main Street does not mean that you get to steal my liquor to do it."
"It should," Lisa says, pouting. "And why don't you come down there with me some time? I'm sure your winsome, blond ways would have him saying more than 'Have a good day, ma'am.'"
She sinks morosely into the armchair. Jennifer gives her a comforting pat on the arm.
"Because, everyone in that bookstore hates me," Ainsley replies, stirring the waffle mix with wild abandon. "You ask one time if they're planning to stock the Reagan autobiography and you're practically banned for life. I ask you!"
"Oh honey," Hayley says with a sigh. "You mentioned Reagan, really?"
"I'll mention whomever I like," Ainsley says. "And don't start critiquing my politics or you won't get any vodkaffles."