By Robert T. Jeschonek
The problem with having a crush on your mad scientist boss is, every day she doesn’t see how wonderful you really are seems like the end of the world.
“This is all wrong!” says Dr. Hildegarde Medici, hurling the tray across her cavernous secret laboratory. “You’re a complete imbecile, Glue!”
Her words sting, but at least she’s paying attention to me. I’ll take what I can get from the woman I love. “I’m sorry, Dr. M. Please let me try again.”
“Everything is ruined.” With one arm, Dr. Medici sweeps notebooks and glass beakers from the table in front of her. “Now I’ll never finish the doomsday weapon today!”
As Dr. Medici throws her head down onto her folded arms on the table, I cross the lab and pick up the silver tray that she threw. I see myself reflected in its surface–thick glasses, big nose, bald head, pure geek…not her type. “I thought you liked the crinkle-cut ones,” I say as I pluck chicken fingers and french fries from the floor and drop them onto the tray.
“Steak fries,” says Dr. Medici without raising her head. “How many times do I have to tell you, Glue?”