At last, a solid argument as to why my best friend should take less time in the bathroom. Especially when I’m waiting by the exit with pickles and Cupid.

---

I shifted my weight to my other foot, letting my gaze drift aimlessly to the gaudy stalls surrounding the even gaudier building marked ‘Privies.’ My eyes found a copper whirligig and followed its swirling movement for a moment, then darted over to where a young man was trying—unsuccessfully—to convince a four-year-old princess and her thirty-year-old guardian knight/father to play his game.

Too old, needs to cut his hair, I decided absently. The refreshingly flirtatious air of the Bristol Renaissance Faire had brought my hormones out of the dank dungeon where they normally hid and into the scattered mess of my conscious mind.

Good Lord, Meg, how long does it take? I sent telepathically into the bathroom, half-hoping her to appear through the open door labeled ‘Exit’. I knew she would be at least five more minutes—for someone who has to go to the bathroom every hour on the hour, she takes FOREVER. Forever ad infinitum.

My eyes darted restlessly around again, unable to find anything sufficiently exciting to rest them on.

“Hey man, you see that girl over there? She’s been checking you out.”

Hold up.

My eyes flicked in the direction of Too-old-needs-to-cut-his-hair (Let’s call him Cupid), who had abandoned his game in favor of talking to a boy about my age in a long black cloak.

“No, I really don’t think—”

“Hey, you should go talk to her. She’s been checking you out.”

Oh hell. Cupid was pointing to me. I shot a hasty glance at the bathroom door, praying to all the gods I’d ever heard of that Meg would come out.

Although…

I hid a smile. Strange and creepy as it was, I was secretly exited and amused—and not to mention a little embarrassed, as I was currently holding two partially eaten pickles—at the idea that I had been checking that boy out. From behind (the only view I had had of him until now) it was impossible to tell if he was a boy or a girl.

“Listen, I really don’t—”

“No, come on. Here, come with me.”

Amusement changed to mild panic as Cupid led Cloak over to where I was presiding over the pickles.

“Hey, you.”

“Me?” I asked, pretending that I hadn’t heard his entire exchange with Cloak.

“Yeah. You see that guy right there? Give him this card.” Cupid handed me a business card with the name of the company that ran his game on it.

I blinked, not really sure what to make of all this. “…Why?”

“Come on, just do it.”

“Okay…”

Meanwhile, Cloak had been trying to slip away unnoticed. Unfortunately, Cupid noticed and dragged him back again. “Come here, man. She has something to give to you.”

Thoroughly confused, I handed the card to Cloak, whom I now noticed had glasses. “Here…”

“Alright, now you have to kiss him.”

“What?!” Oh crap oh crap oh crap oh CRAP, I thought passionately, glancing at the bathroom door. Please oh please Meg hurry up and get out here!

“You gave him a card, and now you have to kiss him,” Cupid said, as though it were obvious.

I took a deep breath. “Why?” I asked, much more calmly than I felt. Cloak, I noticed, was looking as though he wanted to slide away again, but didn’t have the courage to speak up.

“It’s a Faire rule. If a girl gives a guy a card, she has to kiss him.”

“Um…no. I’m sorry, no offense to you or anything,” I said apologetically to Cloak. “But I’m not going to.”

“Nope. You have to do it. Faire rules.”

Just then a familiar brown haired form appeared in the doorway of the bathroom. “Meg!” I said, sending her a pleading look. “Help!”

“Hey,” she said, joining our rather awkward party. “What’s up?”

“She gave him a card, and now she has to kiss him. Faire rules,” Cupid told her.

“What?!” she exclaimed, looking at me. I made a nervous face.

“Not happening,” she said briskly. “No offense to you,” she said to Cloak, “but it’s not happening.”

Cloak sent her a grateful look, but Cupid was not to be put off. “Nope, she has to kiss him.”

“You’re going to leave my friend alone,” Meg said. Her voice had a superior, dangerous edge to it. “I won’t let you bother her any more.”

“She has to kiss him,” Cupid insisted.

“You try to make her do anything and I will hurt you.”

“Meg, can we go?” I muttered under my breath.

“An excellent idea.” She took my arm and towed me off, leaving Cloak to deal with Cupid.

We turned a bend in the path and, out of sight of the boys, burst into laughter. “Oh my God,” I managed between volleys of chuckles. “Would you really have hurt him?”

“Yup,” Meg said proudly, and we both dissolved into helpless giggles.

“Here, take your pickle,” I said once we had calmed down.

Arm in arm, munching contentedly on pickles, we strolled down the path of the Bristol Renaissance Faire, with yet another story to tell.

---

This is a true story. It's one of my favorites--Meg is usually such a pacifist!! This is also my first story on FP, so tell me what you think!

Oh, and I'm supposed to get permission from everyone involved in this story because it's true. Well, I have my permission, and Meg's. I haven't seen Cupid and Cloak since the incident, and they aren't mentioned by their actual names, so I think that's okay. And the princes and her guardian knight/daughter I made up because I couldn't remember who was really looking and Cupid's game.

Please tell me what you think!!

--Myriad