When I woke up this morning, my old friend Figment was sitting on the sofa. He was chomping on a bowl of Cheerios (bowl and all) and holding this picture:
I walked back into my bedroom, pinched myself to make sure it hurt, and went back to the living room. Figment was still there.
"Jennie," he said. "This picture you drew of me hardly does me justice."
"Sorry, I'm not much of an artist," I said.
"And I read your blog. Well, some of it. Then I got bored and went to TWoP," he confessed.
"When did you start spelling your name with an "ie" at the end?" he asked.
"Because there were fifteen other Jennys in my class and I wanted to be different," I answered.
"Fifteen, huh? I see you haven't stopped exaggerating," he placed his cereal bowl (the half that was left) on the ottoman, where it leaked milk all over the fabric. I started to object, but then I remembered that time Phoebe threw up on the ottoman and decided milk couldn't really hurt it.
"So, Figment," I began. "Whatcha doing here?"
"Well, Jenny," I don't know how he managed to pronounce my name with a Y, but he did it. "I've got the old Rocketship (duh) outside and wondered if you wanted to go somewhere."
"But I have to go to work," I said.
"For . . . money."
"Um. For stuff?"
"Stuff? Where we're going we don't need stuff," he exclaimed, jumping up and knocking the ottoman, along with the half-bowl, over. Great, I thought. Now there's milk all over the carpet. Then I remembered that time Phoebe threw up on the carpet and decided milk couldn't really hurt it.
"OK," I said. "Let me call into work and we can go."
"Great. We'll just have to pack some stuff first," he said.
"But you said we wouldn't need stuff!"
"That was just for dramatic effect," he said, waving his hand at me. He lumbered to my room, pulled out a suitcase, and started throwing my clothes inside.
"Can you at least fold that?" I asked.
"Geez, when did you get so uptight?"
"Bite me," I said. "Where are we going anyway?"
"Um, it's a Rocketship (duh). We're going to space. The final frontier."
"Still a Star Trek fan, I see."
"Well, it's really the only show I can get in my Dragon Lair," he said.
"I see. If we're going to space, don't forget my ET shirt."
"Already packed," he said and slammed the suitcase closed. "Let's go."
"Can I pee first?" I asked.
"No time," he said.
"Calm down, there's a bathroom on the Rocketship. Duh."