Tartlet: Beer and Unicorns
“I hate him.”
“Who?” Caroline diverted her attention from the TV momentarily. “Conan O’Brien?”
“No. What? No. I mean Jeremy.”
“That’s ‘cause he’s an asshole.”
“He didn’t seem like an asshole,” Frannie pouted.
“Yes he did,” Caroline insisted, digging out a handful of popcorn, her eyes on the redheaded, string bean talk show host. “He just also seemed like he had a great body.”
“He did have a great body.”
“And he did seem like an asshole.”
Frannie rolled her eyes from the TV to her roommate, wanting to argue but lacking the data to back it up. Sighing, she gave in. “Well that’s why I hate him, then.”
“You hate him because he stopped calling after you put out.”
“Asshole,” Frannie spat, leaning over to grab a handful of popcorn. “I can’t believe I didn’t see what an asshole he is.”
As Frannie gave in Caroline laughed, bobbing her head loosely. “Men are all assholes.”
“Jeremy’s at the top of the list, though.”
“For tonight. Tomorrow we’ll find some other asshole and move him to the top of the list.”
“I hate the list. I want to burn the list.”
“You could settle for burning Jeremy. Let’s go put flaming dog shit on his porch.”
“Eew,” Frannie objected, wrinkling her nose. She lost her interest in the popcorn, let the few kernels she had left drop back into the bowl.
“You’re right. I don’t know where to get dog shit this time of the night.”
Frannie laughed. “Because the dog shit store doesn’t open until ten?”
“Lazy owners,” Caroline said, going with the joke. “They screw you over, too. I bet half that shit’s actually cat shit.”
“What a rip off,” Frannie said, the disgusting idea cheering her, despite the images Caroline had put on her head. They went quiet again as Conan welcomed some blond superhero actor to his couch. The vision of an attractive beefcake in a nice suit made her snarl. “They should pay, though.”
“Damn right they should,” Caroline agreed, wondering if it was too late to go grab another beer. She had to work in the morning but sometimes she slept better drunk. “And not just for dinner.”
“Jeremy didn’t even pay for dinner.”
“Asshole. We’re going to that dog shit store first thing. Ten AM we’re stocking up.”
“I don’t want to wait until ten,” Frannie insisted, sitting bolt upright. “I want to do something now. Something mean. Something that’ll really piss him off. Teach him not to fucking call me.”
“You go girl,” Caroline yelled, heaving herself to her feet with a grunt that she found reminded her of her grandfather. “Tell him off. Ruin his night. Burn his village to the ground!”
“His what?” Frannie blinked at Caroline, watching the taller girl waddle toward the kitchen. She’d lost one of her socks, probably under the couch with all her others. Drinking through the weeknights always ended in a pile of socks under the couch and Frannie wasn’t sure why.
“I need another beer,” Caroline yelled, her tone indicating that explained her comment. Frannie got up, followed her into their narrow kitchen.
“I want to burn something. Or… break something. Or maybe just spray paint something. Maybe I’ll write something nasty on his windshield in lipstick.”
“Spray paint to lipstick?” Caroline snorted, fighting with the beer she’d pulled from the fridge. “You’re going the wrong way. Don’t lipstick his car, spray paint his face! What the fuck is wrong with this beer?”
“It’s not a twist-off,” Frannie pointed out, having already pulled an opener from the drawer.
“Asshole,” Caroline grunted, popping the top off the beer like it was Jeremy’s head. “Let’s go get some spray paint.”
“I can’t spray paint his car,” Frannie said, the flutter in her stomach insisting Caroline was probably serious. She was mean enough sober.
“We’re spraying his face, remember? Where’s my sock?” Caroline took a hard chug of beer, waved her free hand. “Fuck it. I’ll go barefoot. Let’s go.”
“We can’t spray anything!”
“You’re right,” Caroline said, still heading around the corner toward the hall. “We don’t have paint. I have sharpies. We’ll write on his face.”
“How are we going to get to his face? Just forget it, Caro.”
“No. We can’t forget it. He’s an asshole, remember? We’ll write on his car. Something mean. Something nasty. What does he hate? We’ll write that.”
“Um. I don’t know what he hates.”
“We’ll get a fat ass sharpie and write, ‘I chug cock’ right on his windshield.”
“How is that mean?” Frannie asked, before shaking her head. Caroline was sucking at her beer in her left hand, her right pawing through her clothes.
“I bet he doesn’t chug cock,” Caroline insisted, before squinting and turning to face Frannie. “Does he?”
“No. I don’t think so. But you chug cock. It’s not really mean. And I’m not saying it anymore. It sounds gross.”
“It is gross. It’s kind of fun, though. I’m wearing this.”
Caroline yanked hard on a shimmery slip of fabric that Frannie recognized as her bustiest red dress. “My tits will look great while we’re writing shit on his car.”
“We’re not writing shit on his car!”
“We have to do something! He’s an asshole! I have an idea. Come on.” Caroline dropped the dress on the ground, sucked down the last of her beer and set it on the dresser as she headed toward the bedroom door.
“What are you doing? Come on, we don’t need to write anything on his car. Just let it go, Caro. He’s an asshole, but it’s fine.”
“No. We’re teaching him a fucking lesson. He’s gonna wake up tomorrow and fucking know that he’s an asshole. Get my scrapbooking bag.”
Ten hours later, Asshole Jeremy stepped out of his apartment and headed straight for his car, whistling to himself. He’d been eyeing a particularly fine barista at the Starbucks near work and today he was going to get her number. It was decided and he was feeling pretty good about the idea of taking her out and doing Friday night up right. He stopped dead at the sight of a pink unicorn sticker on his driver’s side window. It was upside down, the horn pointing toward the ass end of his sedan.
“What the hell?” he wondered, working at it with his nail. It stayed fast and he swore, trying to decide in the moment if he wanted to spend the time picking at it or leave it and make it to Starbucks before work. Figuring he could deal with it later, he climbed in the car and drove off.
Jeremy may have missed the message along his bumper but no one else missed the word, ‘asshole’ spelled out in pink unicorns, blue mermaids, and gray, tabby kittens.