I have been waiting patiently to post this piece! This takes place in Lady Tesser's universe of
The Blossoming Rose and
Mr. And Mrs. Smith. If you have not read those two fics yet, PLEASE check them out before proceeding to this one!
Dorothy Smith's Bad Day
Dorothy Smith was not having a very good day. (In fact, Dorothy Smith was not having a very good week, but her previous woes paled when compared to current events.)
It had begun promisingly enough. She had wanted to do something nice for her dear husband Roger.
They had been negotiating a case that required spending time in a local drinking establishment (the seediest joint in town). After a black eye and a broken nose (which was nothing compared to the damage her husband had inflicted on the sleazebag who had laid his hands on an intimate part of her person), she and Roger had decided (Roger had flat out told her, his groans of pain muffled by the towel that held a copious quantity of ice to reduce the swelling and bruising) that it would be better if he handled this part of the job (the really interesting part!) himself. (And he hadn't even thanked her for putting his nose back into place before it became so swollen that setting it would have hurt worse than breaking it!)
She had gazed down at her sleeping love (who sounded very much like an asthmatic moose in labor due to the broken nose forcing him to breathe through his mouth, although as a loving wife she would never, ever tell him so) and decided she would make him the battered toast he worshipped her for (that and certain other things that were best not discussed in mixed company) and serve him breakfast in bed.
Norman had apparently spent the night elsewhere (she was convinced that he was carrying on with Mrs. Verlini, the widow who ran the bakery, due to the sudden bounty of breads, pastries and other baked delights that were appearing regularly at the dinner table) and there were no eggs. Still, there was plenty of time to go to the market and fetch more (and she knew where the old tightwad kept the grocery money).
She discovered that the heavens had decided to open up (well, not really, but it was raining like hell) in the short time it had taken her to get ready, so she added a coat and an umbrella to her ensemble (one advantage of wearing nothing but black was that you never had to make last-minute fashion decisions) and braved the windy streets.
For a wonder, the trip to the market was without incident (if you didn't count the wind trying to do a Mary Poppins on you) and the eggs were fresh. The trip back, however, was another matter.
A car speeding by managed to splash her (douse her liberally) with muddy, oily water. The wind had picked up a little (to gale force) and her umbrella suddenly snapped and went spinning off to parts unknown. Dorothy clutched the eggs tightly, unconcerned that she was getting drenched (but she hated the squishing feeling in her shoes!) and continued patiently home (turning the air around her blue with muttered curses that would have shocked even Norman, who was amazingly inventive with language when he believed himself unobserved).
She trudged up the steps to the door (which had been left slightly ajar by the horny old goat when he was sneaking back in) and reached for the handle just in time for a huge gust of wind to catch it, slamming it open and knocking her down (sailing ass over teakettle) to the ground. The eggs had exploded with the force of it, there was yellow goo not only all over her coat, but in her hair (weren't eggs supposed to make your hair shiny?), she was drenched to the skin and worst of all, she could see her beloved husband (he must have left right after she had) coming down the street towards her.
For the first time in her entire life, Dorothy Smith broke down and sobbed.
"Dora-girl?" she raised her tearstained face at the concern in his voice. He reached down a hand to help her up and suddenly slid (his landing was only slightly less impressive than hers) on a glob of egg white. They sat there silently in the pouring rain, looking at each other in shock (with her still sniffling a little) when suddenly Roger Smith (her beloved insensitive jerk of a husband) began to laugh.
She glared at him, determined to lock him out of the bedroom for a night for every second he laughed at her (maybe two!) when his arms went around her. "Dorothy-my-dearest-love, it must have been just awful (little did he know that very shortly he'd be finding out just how awful up close and personal), but," he whooped again, gasping for breath (with any luck he'd suffocate and save her the trouble of strangling him), "if you could have seen yourself!" Outraged, she scraped a handful of the egg-goo off of her coat and liberally rubbed it into his face and hair (carefully avoiding his sore nose).
Instead of getting angry (as she'd expected, thinking a good fight would be just the thing), he made a very mournful face, lower lip trembling. Suddenly the tightness in her throat eased and she started to giggle. They sat there for some time in the pouring rain, arms around each other, laughing like a pair of loons (or was that hyenas?). No sooner would one start to settle than the other would make a face or flick a bit of eggshell and they would be off again.
They finally calmed down when Roger began to shiver with cold. "Let's get dried off, my husband," (his nose was bad enough to begin with, there was no need to add snot to the equation). They both stood up very slowly and cautiously and managed to get safely into the house. They went into the laundry room (the dry cleaner was going to have a fit over the suit) and shucked off their wet, filthy clothes.
Dorothy wrapped a sheet around herself for modesty's sake (although her figure was positively girlish when compared to the voluptuous Mrs. Verlini) and Roger did the same, and they ran through the kitchen hand in hand past a very shocked Norman, breaking into laughter all over again when they were safely back in their bedroom.
"Dorothy Smith, I adore you." Her (wonderful, amazing, glorious) husband handed her a single, perfect rose that he had somehow managed to conceal from her (he had probably hidden it in the folds of the sheet), and miraculously, it wasn't even crushed.
She kissed him passionately (he loved it when she did that), amazed at the power of the bond between them, which could transform even the worst of days into something special. "My husband, we have egg on our faces," she managed to say it and keep her expression deadpan.
He chuckled. "Come on, Dora-girl, I'll wash your back if you'll wash mine," he led the way into the bathroom so they could get cleaned up (and yes, raw egg really did make hair shiny).
5 seconds later the little toy robot of his "son" might light its eyes up and start walking aimlessly down the hallway...out through the door...and almost fall into the swimming pool but stop with one leg out over the water @__@;;;;;;;
OR EVEN...duh duh duuuhh!!!! A 3RD SEASON >_> ... <_< ...
...how did he know 
, Prince-Consort Tesser, for putting that up. Now I'll never look at Norman the same again. Toot-toot-tootsie, goodbye!