Out of the Ordinary

Chapter 8

"I'm not sure what's worse..." Harry started, amusement mingling with embarrassment in his voice, "the fact that you're asking about the state of my crotch, or the fact that you're asking because you read an article about the state of my crotch."

"It had gifs, too. Don't forget the gifs." I said, stifling a laugh.

"Right, of course. How could I forget the gifs?" He said wryly.

"It looked painful. What was it, anyway?" I had to hold a hand to my mouth to keep from giggling into the phone.

Harry sighed, "A walkie-talkie. Clever, really."

"Bet you didn't really feel like talking to whoever threw it after that."

"Whoever it was had very good aim. I couldn't talk or sing for at least a minute." He said, to my thorough amusement, "It's not funny! It was painful."

"I'm sorry, you're right." I said, snorting through my nose to try to keep from giggling again.

Harry chuckled at that, "Stop laughing!"

To which, I, of course, only laughed harder.

"Can we change the subject please?" he begged.

I gasped, "Yeah, yeah. Just, did you have to ice it?"

"Madelyn!" he exclaimed, scandalized, but laughing through the humiliation, "You have absolutely no couth."

I laughed, only mildly insulted, "If that's true, than neither do the millions of people who read articles about your crotch."

"Ugh," he groaned, "Moving on. Please."

"Fine, fine." I said, giving in for the moment, "How was the show otherwise?"

He sighed, "Incredible, actually. The crowd was mental. And Niall fell flat on his face during Happily, which was pretty funny. See any gifs of that, anywhere?"

"Nope. Just the walkie-talkie flying straight into your crotch and you doubling over in pain."

"Madelyn," he whined.

"What?! You're the one who mentioned gifs again!" I laughed.

Harry sighed, "Let's just move away from discussing anything having to do with the show and my, um... nether region."

"Okay," I giggled, leaning back against the headboard, pulling the rumpled covers up over me despite the fact that it was nearly noon, "Any suggestions?"

"How's the new job?"

David had held true to his word. Not a week after my breakdown in the coffee shop, he texted with the name of a friend, Julian, the name of the restaurant where Julian worked, and that I should go down for an interview. It was on the lower east side, which was convenient enough for me, so not four hours later, I had secured a job as a waitress.

Now, another week later, I'd decided that I definitely, without a doubt, did not like waiting tables.

"Glamorous," I sighed, "Last night, I had a party of seventeen." When he didn't react with horrified shock, I went on, "Seventeen, Harry. Seventeen hungry people, who ate seventeen different things, with seventeen million different requirements, and left me to clean up seventeen dirty dishes and then some. It's like the staff are taking bets on how much the new girl can handle."

"How much did you make in tips, though?"

"Seventy bucks." I said, smiling with pride.

"See, there's always a bright side, Mads." Harry said chuckling.