The Silliest Stories Out of Bustleburg by Jimmy Misfit

Author:Jimmy Misfit [Misfit, Jimmy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: JMS Books LLC
Published: 2018-02-25T16:00:00+00:00

The Boy Is For the Birds

As told by La Reine Winston, Age 35

Why did I have to fire my boyfriend? No, I knew the answer to that. As culture editor for the Harbinger, I had multiple reasons to axe our food critic. The better question was why I dated Bart in the first place. True, he could be cute in a goofy way.

I looked at him as he informed our surprisingly casual host, sporting sweatpants and a “Death Metal Lives” T-shirt, we required a quiet table. Not that any of the tables in the oddly dim room were occupied. Not that there was music on. Nor a television. That made me smile, but his nitpicking about seating reminded me I should have listened to my sisters when they said he wasn’t the one. The first time we all had dinner together, he wrote down notes concerning uncomfortable chairs, uninspired presentation, and the chef’s lack of originality. That would have been fine if he hadn’t read them aloud and if we hadn’t been eating at my mother’s.

His family, makers of Baycrumb’s Beer-Flavored Beverage and owners of the Brew Ha Ha Suds-Free Pub chain, spent too much on advertising at the Harbinger for the paper to push him out the door. It was on me to figure out a creative exit. I felt worse about that until Bart sat down, unrolled his napkin, and used the back of his spoon to check out his hair. If there were an award for Vainest Man in Bustleburg, the winner would be Bart.

“Believe me, La Reine. I know all about Transvonian cuisine. This review will be my best yet,” he said, patting my hand.

“Really?” I rolled my eyes. “For one, I’ll be surprised if it is. For two, that’s not a lofty goal.”

Whenever he patted my hand or my shoulder, I felt irritated. Belittled. Perhaps I should have said something before. I’d been promoted two weeks ago, and now it would look like an ego trip.

Here was the better reason to be unhappy: Now that I was Bart’s boss, I’d gone back and read his old articles. They were dreadful, to say the least.

Bart stared blankly, like there was a satellite delay, while he figured out my disappointment. Then he put his spoon down and protested. “La Reine! I can do this!”

The waiter’s arrival silenced him. He looked at us with a sneer. “I didn’t know you’d be here, madam. We don’t offer free food to more than one reviewer.”

Oh. Of course they knew Bart was our food critic. There goes the credibility of this review. How often had this happened?

“I’m not worried about that.” I looked at Bart. “I imagine the reviewer knows his employer gives him an expense account.” I turned back to the waiter. “What does worry me is that I can’t find Transvonia on a map.”

“It’s in Europe.” The waiter glanced at his fingernails. His name tag said “Hank.” So continental.

“Where in Europe?”

He thought for a minute. “Near the part of France south of Austria.

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