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Friday, October 28, 2011
Something Missing
Category: Humor/SatireMark looked at Tracy and Tracy looked at Mark.
Tracy looked down at her somewhat roundish stomach and Mark looked down at his own. Tracy wasn’t pregnant and Mark wasn’t, either. They were both just somewhat overweight.
Their feet were up on the same coffee table and they were sitting on the same couch. They were in front of the same TV. Or, it was in front of them. It went like this: TV; coffee table; Mark and Tracy; couch. Or, vice versa.
Something, however, was missing.
It was time to watch their favorite show. It was a cooking show. It was great. The show was great; you could see various contestants competing to win a lot of money, you could watch people cook exotic food you’d never heard of, you could watch people eat the food. There were real Chefs, who had a lot of experience and authority, tasting the food and looking very serious about it. People would get kicked off the show and soldier bravely on, having shaken hands with the Chef(s), vowing never to quit cooking, in spite of having been eliminated. Mark and Tracy loved this show. And it was on.
But, there was something missing.
Tracy started it. “It’s ON!” she said to Mark.
“My point, exactly,” Mark said. “I think you should look into it.”
“No, seriously. It’s just a ... Oh.”
It had been a commercial. But it wasn’t anymore. The contestants were making a six-layer devil’s food cake. There were twelve contestents, so it was going to be a long time before they finished screwing up their cakes and being judged by the judges. Tracy and Mark stopped bickering and both stared fixedly at the television, occasionally adjusting one or two of their feet. They usually kept their feet stacked on top of each other on the coffee table; they were a sweet couple.
Apart from the fact that there was something missing.
When the next commercial finally came, Tracy launched herself bravely off the couch. “I’m hungry,” Mark pointed out, in her wake.
“I’m on it!’’ Tracy yelled.
In the kitchen, she tripped over the dog, whose name was also Tracy. That’s just the way things go sometimes. Mark had thought it was cute that his girlfriend, thence to be his bride, had the same name as his dog. Who names a dog Tracy? Mark. The dog was named after his grandmother. Who has a grandmother named Tracy? Mark. Luckily, Mark’s wife, Tracy, liked the dog, so there usually wasn’t much friction.
“Melph,” said Tracy (the dog), rolling over on her back and waving her legs in the air when Tracy (the human) tripped over her. “Melph,” said Tracy (the human).
Tracy (the dog) didn’t have a problem with Tracy (the human), even when she crashed into her, as she just had. Humans did that a lot, maybe because Tracy was always lying on the floor, being old and fat. Tracy and Tracy liked each other. Tracy was getting old and fat, and so was Tracy. Tracy, since she was already almost on the floor anyway, scratched Tracy’s belly while she was almost down there.
But there was something missing.
“Dammit! Mark!”
“What?”
“Mark, get your ass in here right now! I can’t deal with this!”
“I can’t! It’s ON again.”
There was no arguing with Mark when he was using that tone of voice. He had a PhD in Economics from Chicago.
“Fine!” Tracy, in one fluid motion, turned off the burner on the stove, grasped the frying pan, stepped over Tracy, opened the back door, and flung the burning remnants of their ... whatever it was going to be… into the back yard. “I think it was fish,” she said to Tracy. The dog had gotten laboriously to her feet and was sniffing at the door. Tail wagging slowly. “Forget it,” said Tracy. “You can have some of this.”
“Áre you coming or not?” Mark, in the livingroom, was getting upset. Tracy could tell. She had a Masters in Psychology and ten years of experience working in a private school for the Gifted.
“I can’t believe you’re acting like this. Why can’t the MAN do something once in awhile??” she shouted, staring at the microwave oven and listening for the countdown beeps.
“Philippe’s forgotten to ... omigod, he forgot the middle layer of the cake!” Mark was losing his grip. He couldn’t be left to handle this alone.
Tracy, the dog, shrugged, as only a dog can do, and wandered into the livingroom to join Mark. A long time ago, she had considered going into some sort of Rescue Dog thing, but had never gotten around to it.
Tracy, the human, tripped over Tracy, the dog, on the way in, but would have managed to land the microwaved pizza on the coffee table, had it not glanced off Mark’s foot.
“Did I miss anything? Shit!”
Mark and Tracy watched the dog eat their microwaved pizza. Out of the corners of their eyes. Three challengers were being eliminated based on their poor cake performances.
“I missed the whole thing,” she said sadly, to Mark, when the last commercial came on.
“Oh, not really. It’s just a stupid cooking show,” Mark said. “But I’m feeling hungry for some reason.”
Tracy (the dog) burped.
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