Biff and Mary: Chapter Fourteen

Welcome back for more Biff and Mary! Today’s episode will be filled with the vapid thought processes, extreme run-on sentences, excessive amount of detail and ridiculous shallowness that epitomize our Perfectly Perfect Pair! When we last left our lovebirds at Mary’s home in Loversville, they had just been attempting to unpack boxes and were finishing their lunch while Mary’s pampered Pomeranian, Poopsie, languished in the back yard. Buff, blemished Biff was about to reveal his deep, dark, secret… ;) Hope you enjoy!

** If you'd like to read previous chapters of Biff and Mary, my exercise in How Not to Write, just click on the "Biff and Mary" tab above, or click here. **

Chapter 14: Wherein Biff’s Secret is Revealed and True Love is Tested Once More…

Biff cleared his throat, flipped his well-styled sun-kissed blond hair with the 23 darker streaks mixed in (which she had still yet to determine were natural or the result of an expert colorist, but as she now knew that her love knew no bounds she had decided she didn’t mind which), and determinedly looked Mary in the eye as he prepared to divulge the secret of his moniker misfortune.

“Well, Mary…it is important that we always be honest with each other…even about the most, er….challenging things, right?” He looked at her hopefully.

Mary nodded and swallowed and tried to ignore the way her heartbeat had sped up because the way it was beating made her think back to watching cartoons on her grandmother’s old RCA  television, which had it’s own dark wood grain cabinet and metal rabbit ears on top which worked sometimes but didn’t work others, and once in a while they had to crumple up tin foil and wrap it on the ends of the antennas to make it work well enough for her to watch her Saturday morning Looney Tunes when she was visiting. Anyhoo, she thought about watching the cartoons and the way Pepe LePew’s heart would beat so hard that it would practically poke right out of his chest every time he saw his lady love, much like Mary’s heart was beating right now. She risked a quick glance down at her own chest, swathed in the once-lovely-but-now-hopelessly-wrinkled white cotton blouse with the delicate little cap sleeves, which had so nicely set off both her lightly tanned and toned arms as well as her plum-colored pedal-pusher pants, not to mention her amethyst accessories, and was relieved to find that her own frantic heartbeat wasn’t nearly so obvious as Pepe’s .

“Mary?”

“Er…yes. Yes, Biff, of course. Please go on.”

Biff cleared his throat again. “Well…my parents told me that they thought a man of my social stature really needed to have more than one middle name, and since they wanted to be sure to honor both of my late grandfathers when I was born, they gave me both of their names. So…my middle names are... Ulysses and Reginald.”

He glanced at Mary expectantly, braced for her reaction. When she continued to stare at him vacantly, he took a deep breath and went on.

“So…my full name is... Bickford Ulysses Reginald Parker.”

Mary’s vacant look remained for a moment more, then her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open slightly in shock and dismay. “But Biff…if…if that’s the case, then that means that your initials are…”

“Yes!” Biff interrupted, rising from his chair and turning to stare out the kitchen window, obviously overcome with embarrassment.

“Yes. I am afraid so, Mary,” Biff said, bravely squaring his shoulders and turning to face her. “My initials are B.U.R.P.”

Mary blinked rapidly.

Biff looked at her apologetically.

“It seems my parents just didn’t have the foresight to consider how their misguided attempt to honor their fathers would bring such shame upon their firstborn son.”

Biff’s shoulders slumped as he crossed his arms and cast his eyes downward in utter shame.

Mary shook herself and tried to think clearly. Yes, she had to admit that it was a bit…disappointing. However, she sat up straighter, reminding herself that she had been willing to accept Biff even if his name had become identified forevermore with a tragic and devastating tropical storm. Surely she could accept the letters of his name coincidentally spelling out the unfortunate gastronomical result of too many burritos. After all, it could have been worse…he could have been named something like Franklin Antonio Ricardo Thompson….

Well. If she had to choose an association between the two possible gastrointestinal upsets, Biff’s was certainly the better of them.

Mary stood and went to Biff, grasping his hands firmly in her own.

“Biff, please don't worry. Your parents…I'm sure they meant well. Obviously they just didn’t think about what they were doing, but…oh, Biff, it doesn’t matter! Don't you see? What we have together can overcome any obstacle!” 

She smiled brilliantly at him, overcome with love, the kind of love that could overlook even the most shameful and embarrassing things that any couple could ever face in their entire lifetime of coupledom.

Biff sighed with relief, returning her smile.

“Thank you, Mary. I feel so much better about all this!”

Just as Biff leaned toward her enough for her to begin to swoon at the scent of his masculine, citrusy Burberry cologne, the doorbell rang.

“I wonder who that could be?” Mary said. “Our lunch was already delivered and I'm not expecting….oh wait! Maybe it’s my neighbors, Biff!” She beamed at him excitedly. “Maybe little Lily Littleton told them how much I needed them and they’ve finally decided to come over and help me with everything! Oh, Biff, maybe we won’t need to learn to use that box cutting thingy after all!”

She rushed to the door so quickly that it took Biff a moment to collect himself and follow her. He came through to the foyer just in time to see a look of shocked surprise on Mary’s face when she opened the door.

“Phillipe!” She cried, just before she threw herself into the arms of the tall, dark, handsome man in the doorway…

        ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Who is Phillipe?

Will Biff and Mary ever be able to have an uninterrupted romantic moment?

Will anyone manage to open the boxes?

Will Mary ever remember poor Poopsie?

Stay tuned! J