Where All De White Wimmim At? [Sif]
It was one of those quiet afternoons when no one, not even a goddess wanted to change out of her pajamas into proper attire for greeting the day. It was also one of those afternoons when even the most elegant of goddesses wore scrubby torn sweat pants and a mismatched tank top, one in neon green with pink letters proclaiming 'PINK' on the bottom and the other in bright orange with silver letters that said 'GODDESS.' Goddess of dressing poorly was probably the only thing it proclaimed, but it was comfortable.
On the feet of such a goddess were lavender fuzzy slippers that were kicked up onto the perfect glass coffee table, next to a bowl of greasy potato chips and a box of wine. A box. Of wine. Her hair was not in any form other than atrocious, unbrushed and pulled back into a bright yellow scrunchy whose previous life was on the side of a head in the 1980's in one of those ponytails... on the side of the head.
Iris lounged there, glass of the Peter Vella winery's "Delicious Red" from the box that was sitting on the table.
It was the greatest way to spend an afternoon. Relaxing with her dearest of friends beside her, staring at the television while AMC played the best of Mel Brooks. Morning had started with the two of them, Iris and Sif, waking up and deciding that while they both had better things to do, nothing won out over a good showing of History of the World Part 1 and Young Frankenstein. Now, one box of box wine killed, that one a Blush, it was time for Blazing Saddles.
Minutes earlier, the two sat on the plush white sofa, wine glasses held high and singing, "I get no kick from champagne... mere alcohol doesn't thrill me at all... so tell me why it should be true... that I get a belt, out of you." Hours earlier the joke was, "Roll, Roll... roll in zee hay!!" Hours before that, it was "We need a miracle."
Now, it was a very different moment. Now they were both giggling and acting far younger than either actually was.