Eye Candy

Just like Noel and I, Scheva and Alex have decided to have a small, intimate wedding in Bev and Reggie’s backyard. Here’s hoping their wedding doesn’t end with a trip to the emergency room in the back of an ambulance and third-degree burns on anyone’s junk.

“THOSE CLOWNS STAY!” Reggie yells. “I’ve already got a plan ready for the wedding day. As soon as you asked if you could have the wedding here, I started collecting used wedding dresses. All of the clowns will be dressed for the festivities, and my display will remain intact for the judging ceremony.”

Yes, because nothing says “happy wedding day” like clowns dressed up as brides.

Noel stomps back over to the couch and flops down next to me. I wrap my arm around her shoulders and pull her against my side.

“You’re going to be the sexiest oven anyone has ever seen,” I whisper in her ear.

“Forget about cooking a baby. I’m going to chop off your balls and cook those instead.”

Did I mention how happy I’ll be when this Halloween wedding is over and our baby is finally out of my wife’s body?





Chapter 3: Apple-Butter Lube


Noel

“I can’t believe you’re just now telling me this. Also, you’re a dumbass.”

I pause from grabbing a small pumpkin out of the bin in front of me to glare at Scheva.

“I’m not a dumbass. And I didn’t want to bother you with it. You’ve got a lot going on right now,” I explain, putting the pumpkin into the wagon next to me.

Scheva decided late last night that she didn’t have enough small pumpkins for the table centerpieces at the wedding, and she sent out an S.O.S. text at midnight that we were all to meet her at our local pumpkin farm to stock up, first thing this morning.

While my mom and dad are busy in the field, picking out a few extra-large pumpkins for their front yard, and Alex and Sam are occupied in one of the old fields, a few acres away, watching the pumpkin launcher shoot pumpkins, Scheva and I finally have some alone time in front of the main building, at the bins of small pie pumpkins.

“You can’t possibly think Sam is cheating on you. Again. Didn’t we already go through this before? And besides, he fears your father too much to ever cheat on you,” Scheva reassures me.

“Fine, I don’t think he’s cheating on me, but he’s definitely keeping something from me. He’s been acting weird lately. And you know all that overtime he’s been working? I went up to the base the other night to take him dinner, and the guard at the gate told me he left hours earlier.” I grab another pumpkin from the bin and put it into the wagon, on top of the pile we’ve already accumulated.

“Aunt Bobbie has been acting weird lately too. Well, weirder than usual. Maybe she finally convinced him to start going to Drag Queen Bingo with her. I bet Sam makes a very lovely woman,” Scheva says with a laugh.

She walks over to the wagon, picks up the handle, and starts pulling it toward the cashier at the side of the building. I follow along, walking next to her.

“It’s probably just my hormones making me crazy, right? I mean, maybe the guard was wrong and Sam really was there.”

“Did you ask Sam if the guard was wrong and he really was there?” Scheva asks, stopping by the cashier and pulling her wallet out of her purse.

“Of course I didn’t ask Sam, are you insane?! I’m much happier thinking the worst so that when the truth finally does come out, I can be pleasantly surprised that all my fears were wrong, like a normal human being,” I tell her.

“You mean like a neurotic human being.”

“Same difference,” I shrug.

“All right, someone needs to back up one of their vehicles to the front of the building and help me load my haul,” Aunt Bobbie states, coming over to stand next to Scheva and me.

Aunt Bobbie disappeared as soon as we arrived to browse inside the pumpkin farm’s store. They sell all sorts of homemade goodies, like apple and pumpkin pies, apple cider, and freshly made pumpkin donuts from their bakery.

Aunt Bobbie pulls a mason jar out of the purse hanging from her shoulder and holds it up for the cashier to see. It’s got a pink label wrapped around the glass that says Steph’s Apple Butter.

“What’s the cinnamon content in this?” she asks.

“A very small amount. Just a dash, really. Enough for flavor,” the woman replies with a smile.

“Excellent. Cinnamon burns. I know that from experience. A dash should be just fine. I’ll take seventy-five jars,” Aunt Bobbie informs her before shoving the jar back inside her purse.

The woman’s mouth drops open in surprise.

“Aunt Bobbie, what in the hell do you need seventy-five jars of apple butter for?” Scheva asks, her nose scrunched up in confusion.

Aunt Bobbie laughs.

“You’re right. What was I thinking? That’s just crazy!”

The cashier’s face relaxes until Aunt Bobbie continues.

“Make it a hundred. You can never have too much apple-butter lube.”

Scheva quickly throws a wad of cash on the counter and thanks the cashier, both of us grabbing Aunt Bobbie’s arm and pulling her away before the cashier passes out and our family gets kicked out of yet another public place.

“Heeeeey! I need to pay for my apple-butter lube!” Aunt Bobbie protests loudly, causing a bunch of pumpkin-farm patrons to look in our direction.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that, Suzie Stick-Up-Her-Ass!” she yells at a woman who has stopped in the middle of the walkway to gawk at us. “I bet your husband knows what’s up with apple-butter lube.”

The man standing next to the woman blushes and quickly looks away from us.

“Yeah, that’s right. You’ve slathered some apple butter on your nether region before, admit it!”

Mom and Dad come walking up to us, each carrying a large pumpkin in their arms, as Scheva and I do our best to shush Aunt Bobbie and smile apologetically at the people watching this horrific scene unfold.

“Why is everyone staring at us?” Mom asks as she sets her pumpkin down by my feet.

“Oh, no big deal. Aunt Bobbie is just making sure we’re never allowed to come within a hundred yards of this place,” I mutter.

“Dammit, Bobbie! We’re already not allowed to go to Target and Starbucks anymore. And we’ve been banned from two Home Depots because of that incident with the leaf blower,” my dad complains.

“It’s not my fault the worker didn’t understand the sucking power of a machine he sells in his own store, Reggie. And it’s also not my fault he allowed me to demonstrate using the crotch of his pants. How was I supposed to know there was an emergency kill switch that would have prevented his penis from being covered in so many popped blood vessels that the thing looked like a bloody nightmare? He should have known his product better,” Aunt Bobbie protests.

“Taking a picture of it with your cell phone when the ambulance arrived was also probably a bad idea,” I remind her.

“I needed proof of the dangers of leaf blowers to send to corporate!” she says with a stomp of her foot.

“All right, as fun as all of this has been, we need to get these pumpkins home so the guys can start carving them,” Scheva announces.