I studied Joe while I was chewing on the insides of my cheeks.
This isn't Joe anymore. It can't be. He doesn't walk that way. Just look at the way he swings his hips! He's more feminine than you, Gail!
I cleared my voice and decided to just jump into it.
"Uhm... Excuse me? Who ARE you?"
"Me?! I'm Michaela Divinity in Motion Jackson. But the real question is, who are YOU?! You look like a homeless."
Because we are!!!
"Michael..a...Divinity...in...Motion..."
"Jackson. That's right. But you can call me Diva like everyone else."
"E-everyone e-else...? Uhm... Who?"
"Aw, ya' knaw... Lady Gaga, Tyra, Rihanna, Kim..."
"I ask again; who?"
"Banks and Kardashian? Helloooo?! Where have you been the last century?"
I just stared blankly at her.
"So, where's the limo?"
"Come again...?"
"The limo? You know; sequins, diamonds, Cristal....?"
"Ain't no such thing around here, doll," I grunted sourly, and started to walk slowly down the graveled road, cursing silently in pain.
Now you understand why Joe preferred to wear those tight boots, instead of walking around in just his sock. This fucking hurts!
"So whatzupwitu, gurl? What's your plan?"
He... Or she... trotted up behind me, while she tried to fix her hair.
"Gosh, my hair is all over the place. It gets so frizzy when it air dries like this, I just can't. Where is my John Frieda when I need it?! There's so much more to silicone than breasts, I tell ya'. But you prolly won't know, because you don't seem to care that your breasts are kind of small. But don't worry. They match your petite frame."
"What the fuck did you just say?!"
"I said they were... Uhm. No, seriously. Don't think about it. Your ass weighs up for that. Literally."
I stopped and glared furiously at her.
That's it! I already hate her!
"I'm not sure if I heard you correctly, but did you just call me fat?!"
"What?! No! Your ass kicks ass! For sho! It's nice and juicy, and not flat and saggy as most women your age."
"WHAAA....? My age...?!? How old do you think I am?! And why the hell are we discussing my breast size and ass? Change of topic please!"
"Okay, okay. Touchy subject there, I see? S' fine. But do you mind telling me where we're going?"
I yelped when I stepped on a sharp stone and limped for a few feet, and that didn't go unnoticed by Michaela. Of course it didn't...
"You're such a wuss. You should've felt the pain in my feet, when I strode around in my shimmering, five inches Jimmy Choos on Michael Kors' fashion show under the fashion week in Milan. Honest to God, I was this close to dying!"
She held her thumb and index finger up to dramatically demonstrate just how bad it was.
Please tell me that this is all in his imagination...! Please tell me that he never went anywhere dressed in high heels and a woman's dress...!!!
"But it was totally worth it, 'cause I was slaaaayin' it in my super short, red Chanel and golden spiked Louis Vuitton!"
Oh, no...
"Look... Can you please use your energy to look for a barn instead of poisoning my head with stuff that only makes me want to kill something?!" And in my mind I added; 'you in particular'.
"So you're gonna walk around wearing that, like it was no big deal?"
She stared at me, wide eyed, pointing at my t-shirt.
"Uhm, yeah?! At least I'm covered up!"
I darted my eyes down at her crotch, and forced myself to not laugh over how absurd our situation was.
"That might be, but I totally pull this off."
She strode around like a dressage horse again, wanting to prove his point, but didn't quite succeed.
"Michael Kors suggested that I started modelling under one of his agents, because I was totally killing it!"
Me... You're killing me!!
"Look. I really couldn't care less about the fashionista part of you running loose, just... Can you please shut up and search for somewhere to sleep?!"
"Ya know, I could actually get paid for my advices in fashion. You don't know how lucky you are, getting all this for free."
"Well, lucky for you, I don't have any money at all, because I would've spent them on a frying pan so I could hit your head! REPEATEDLY! Now, make yourself useful!!"
Michaela gasped and held her hand in front of her mouth in shock, and this time I did roll my eyes at her.
"Okay! Chill, lady. I'll help you look around. But can we search for some respectable clothes first?"
"Who cares what we're wearing?! It's dark! We're gonna sleep, and we can find food and clothes tomorrow. I'm exhausted, so can you please stop arguing with me?!"
Michaela just whistled and wiggled her eyebrows.
"What?!" I asked, highly annoyed.
"See what I see?"
"I see the Planet's most irritating...person...standing right in front of me, trying to drive me out of my goddamn mind! And you're really close to succeeding too!"
"Nuh-uh. Look again."
She circled her pointing finger in the air, making me shift my gaze to one of the three small houses we were about to pass by. And there, in one of the yards...
I'll be damned, Gail! Clothes! Three long rows of clothes hanging to dry on a homemade drying rack! They've probably forgotten to take them in.
"That's..."
"Brilliant, eh? Yeah. Get used to it. That's just me."
"Narcissist much, huh?"
"No. Just unearthly blessed by Mother Nature."
I rubbed my temples frantically, trying to keep my calm, and then followed Michaela as she sneaked inside the yard and started searching through the clothes.
I quickly found a pair of male boxers, a pair of sweatpants that were too big, but that were okay when I tightened the drawstrings properly, and a knitted sweater. Michaela on the other hand...
"Eww. Hideous pattern! Wrong fit. God no! Not yellow, that makes you look pale. Not that. Nuh-uh... Wrong..."
And after another minute or so, my patience had run out. I grabbed a hoodie, and a pair of jeans that looked like it would fit, and dragged Michaela out of the back yard before we would get busted. And when she tried to object, I slapped the top of her head and shoved her through the gate and down the road. When we were well out of sight, I stopped to let Michaela get dressed, and was secretly amused by the displeased look on her face.
"I look like a man! Straight from the ghetto! And I don't even have any bling...!" she whined.
"Exactly. Like a man."
"Yeah, but who are you to talk? I think I need to give my ol' gal Donatella a call, to hear if she can revive your sense of clothing, 'cause goodness gracious, that has obviously been dead for several years."
"Donatella... Who?"
"Versace! What's the matter with you?! Are you completely out in the woods?! Pshh... Why am I even asking? I'm pretty sure you haven't been clothes shopping for a loooong time."
Michaela shook her head and gestured dramatically out in the air in front of her.
"I have so!" I objected. And I was about to tell her to back off, when I got her enormously large hand shoved up in front of my face.
"Walmart doesn't count! In fact, you should be punished for even considering to walk around in clothes like that, because it's a crime to the eyes of your surroundings. A crime, I tell ya! But lucky for you, I'm not caring enough to punish you, because I believe with my whole heart, that we are all equal under the sun."
Lucky for you, that Mr. Jackson is the only one of Michael's personalities that holds grudge, because you really can't handle to be spanked by a temporary transvestite....! Gail. Seriously!
"But, honest to God and the Almighty! If you combine red and pink, or, if you wear vertical stripes when your fat, you're beyond saving, bish."
"What the hell is your problem, Mi... Uhm... Diva! I'd be a little careful about calling people around you a 'bitch', me in particular, because it's not a very nice thing to..."
"Woah, woah, lady! It's just an expression. No hard feelings. As the matter of fact, it's not 'bitch', it 'biiish'. You hear the difference? It's like 'sista'. We like sistahs. We bishes! And everybody know that vertical stripes when you're fat, makes you look like a watermelon, so what's the problem?"
I opened my mouth to counter, but I just couldn't.
You are most likely pregnant with this creature, Gail. I hope you're proud of yourself.
"Just... Keep walking. And search for a barn."
"You can't seriously mean that we're gonna spend the night in a barn?! It smells there! And there's probably spiders, and I can't stand..."
"LOOK! DO YOU SEE ANY HOTELS AROUND HERE?! NO? DIDN'T THINK SO. THEREFORE; KEEP LOOKING FOR A PLACE TO SLEEP!!!"
For once Michaela got silent and actually did as I said, and about half an hour later, we climbed up the stairs to a hay loft and I sunk down in the soft natural mattress like a sack of potatoes. Michaela rummaged around a little before joining me, and I got overwhelmed with gratitude when she tucked us both in with a thick horse tack she had found. And I had to force myself to not snuggle into her, like I normally would with Michael, Joe or Mr. Jackson.
"This stinks..." she murmured.
"Shh."
"But it does! And there will probably be insects crawling all over us while we sleep."
"I'm too tired to care. Go to sleep!"
Then she was quiet for a while, and I was just about to slumber in...
"Are you sleeping?"
I groaned out loud.
"No, I'm training to die."
"Good, 'cause I thought I should give you some advice. With the petite figure of yours, I would recommend that you choose layers that fills...bla, bla, bla...continues the lines from your hips to your shoulders by...bla, bla, bla..."
But then it was all a blissful peace. I had finally drifted off to Dreamland.