Biff and Mary

The Amorous Adventures of Biff and Mary were written primarily for fun, as my own little exercise in highlighting some very basic "newbie" mistakes many of us (myself included) might have made as new writers.
You will find extreme descriptions and excessive adjectives, exaggerated and/or TSTL heroes and heroines, an unwise number of ellipses, semi-colons and commas, and a multitude of alliteration.  Hopefully, reading will provide you with a little bit of laughter today.  :)
Please note that none of the writing here is based on anyone or anything in particular, and is merely a figment of my admittedly warped imagination!
Hope you enjoy! :)

Introducing Biff and Mary

Quite some time ago, a good friend and I were discussing writing and the subject of adjective overuse came up. This led to a light-hearted chat about some common mistakes we all tend to make when we first begin writing creatively, specifically the prevalence of excess description, too-perfect heroes and heroines, and just basic "over-writing."

Just for fun, I started a mini story about a couple named Biff and Mary, whose new romance is often sadly overshadowed by extraneous detail.  Their mutual shallowness is only rivaled by the abundance of unnecessary drama in their lives...not to mention the superfluous ellipses.

I thought it would be fun to share Biff and Mary's romance with all of you and so, without further ado (though I might warn you that this will be the last time anything having to do with Biff and Mary will be done without any further ado), I introduce to you the pleasantly perfect, perfectly matched and excessively exhaustive Biff and Mary:

Chapter 1:  Mary Steps Through the Door

Mary ran a hand through the ends of her shoulder-length, pale blonde hair, which she had just had tinted by her stylist last Tuesday, and had run a brush through twenty minutes earlier, before pulling it back into a purple and yellow scrunchy approximately three inches up from the nape of her neck. She shut the dark green, painted pine front door with two scratches on the brass knob, which matched the oval-shaped brass door knocker (which did not have any scratches that she knew of), and stepped off the brick step onto the grass, which was a mixture of Kentucky bluegrass and weeds, and had a few bald spots caused by slugs, for which she'd called the Loversville Landscape Company, who were due to arrive the following day at precisely 8:15 am, barring traffic caused by any unforseen traffic events or delays in line at the coffee shop.

Her thoughts wandered to the evening before, when Biff had kissed her. His hair, which was a lovely sun-kissed blond with approximately 23 darker streaks mixed in, which she had yet to determine were natural or the result of an expert colorist, had blown around slightly in the breeze caused by the cold front coming in from the south, which they both hoped wouldn't turn into a hurricane force wind, because the next hurricane was due to be named with a "B" and for all Mary knew it would be named "Biff" and she would forever associate the love of her life and his perfectly-shaded hair with a devastating windstorm...

And when Biff had grasped her deeply moisturized and expertly-blushed-by-Maybelline face between his well-manicured hands and kissed her in the possibly-soon-to-become-a-hurricane breeze, his breath had evoked memories of the finely-aged red wine they’d had with dinner, as well as the breaded pork chop, marinated asparagus and slightly overcooked rice pilaf, with a slight aftertaste of cherry cheesecake....he had pressed his lips to hers with precisely the right amount of passion-inducing pressure, and she’d felt the scratchy friction of his stubbly beard, which had grown in slightly despite (he had assured her in his ever-so-gallant reassuringly manly way) his efforts of shaving it that morning at 7:32 with a Bic razor and Barbasol shave cream, rinsed with warm water and followed by a splash of Old Spice. He’d leaned his forehead against hers, and she was drawn back in time to the evening before, when she’d noted the blemish there, just between his thick, dark-blond-but-not-to-be-confused-with-light-brown brows, and she had suggested he use some Clearasil cream, but he'd insisted that Neosporin would do the trick.  He had apparently been mistaken because the blemish had remained, casting a skin-reddened taint upon their near-perfect romantic moment just as she had begun to appreciate the thoroughly masculine aroma of his thirty-nine-dollar cologne.

Mary smoothed the knee-length skirt of her periwinkle, 80% cotton/20% polyester dress, which matched her leather heels with the astonishingly adorable little buckles, as well as her sensible-yet-sexy hoop earrings with hypoallergenic posts, and sighed. It wasn't a quiet sigh, nor was it a heavy was the type of sigh that you can hear if you are sitting within three feet of the other person, but not from across the room...anyhoo, she smoothed her periwinkle polyester/cotton blend skirt and sighed as she stood looking at the bald spots on the lawn and thought once more of Biff, hoping against hope that such bald spots would never mar that beautiful head of perfectly nuanced hair, as the unfortunate blemish had marred his forehead. Yes, her beloved Biff, who she also wished would not soon become forevermore known as Hurricane Biff, and whose blemished pate still drew her like Lyle Lovett’s warbling scarecrow sounds had once drawn Pretty Woman Julia Roberts.  

She sighed again, a bit louder than before but certainly not audibly enough to be heard from farther than four feet away, and she glanced at her car. It was a pearl white Honda Civic with 62,421 miles on it, freshly washed the morning before by the cheerleaders at the Loversville High School Car Wash Fundraiser for Perfectly Pink Pom-Poms,  and it shone brightly in the sun that had broken through the possible hurricane clouds.  The Civic had last had its oil changed on November 23rd at 10:02 am, and that was when she had first noticed the ding on one side that she had never had repaired, and which of course haunted her still each and every day. Between the lawn slugs, the hurricane, the dismaying door ding and her beloved Biff and his blemish (not to mention his possible future baldness and tragic association with potential storm damage which could lead to the necessity of naming any future offspring "Gale" or "Windy") .... Well. Mary feared it was bound to be an emotionally trying day... 

Biff and Mary: Chapters 2 and 3

Welcome back for more adventures in the shallow-yet-extremely-well-detailed lives of Biff and Mary!

(Catch up on previous chapter first: Biff and Mary, Chapter 1)

Please note:  "The Amorous Adventures of Biff and Mary" are written for fun and as an extreme exaggeration of certain tropes and habits in over-thought and overly-descriptive writing.  I am in no way serious, nor am I basing any of this on anything or anyone.  Just hoping to give you a laugh today!  :)

Chapter 2: Wherein Mary Makes Her Way to Her Car and Enters It: 

When we last saw Mary, our blonde heroine in a polyester/cotton blend periwinkle dress with matching shoes and earrings was contemplating lawn slugs, dings in her Honda Civic, and the horrific possibility of her beau, Biff, soon becoming known as Balding Hurricane Biff with a Blighting Blemish...we join her now, on the front walk, approximately one minute and twelve seconds after we left her...

Mary turned 142 degrees to her left before proceeding down the sidewalk, which had several weeds growing in between at least twenty-four of the one hundred and two bricks of which it was made. As she walked she noticed a bird flying above her. She squinted in order to discern its type, and found that it was a robin, though she could not tell whether or not it was male or female. She paused to consider following the bird, because of course knowing whether or not the bird she'd glanced at was a male or a female was of the utmost importance today, as she was due to meet Biff for brunch at Bart's Bistro and if she should decide to relate the occurrence to Biff, he was sure to want all of the details....She watched the bird alight and then hop from branch to branch on the large oak tree in the yard but soon shrugged her slender, periwinkle-clad shoulders and decided that like her, Biff would likely be too preoccupied with possibility of the "B" hurricane, as well as the unfortunate blemish between his perfectly groomed, thick, blonde-but-not-light-brown eyebrows, to want to hear about the bird of unknown gender at all. A frown, which at this stage in her hitherto un-Botoxed life consisted of merely three two-inch creases and one 3/4 inch wrinkle near the bridge of her nose, appeared slightly above her sculpted, light brown-but-not-blond-and-certainly-not-red eyebrows as she momentarily contemplated the calamities that had befallen both her and her beau Biff in so short a span of time, what with the blemish, the hurricane, the lawn slugs and the car ding, all seeming to overwhelm them at once and thus threatening their otherwise flawless and surely fated love.

Mary shook her head slightly in such a way that only a few strands of hair at her temple was disturbed by her action, and then reached her right hand, tastefully manicured with plum-colored-polished-nails, toward the chrome handle of her pearl-painted Honda Civic driver's side door and opened it. She bent at the knees, then leaned down slightly and sat inside the vehicle, alighting with right buttock first, followed by its twin, onto the gray leather captain style driver’s seat. She pulled the slate gray canvas seat belt over her and secured it, carefully pulling the material of her dress taut, so as not to wrinkle her ensemble.

Mary reached into her periwinkle and yellow checked handbag, which had two pale brown leather 12 inch straps for a handle, and unzipped the main compartment, reaching inside for her keys and brushing against a brown leather wallet (which contained twenty-two dollars and thirty-one cents, her Visa card, her license and her library card), and her yellow satin makeup bag (which held her Maybelline Perfectly Peach blush, Cover Girl Long Wear Lipstick in Coquettish Coral, and Loreal Luscious Lash Mascara in Bonny Brown), and finally found her keys, which were on a chain with a 2-inch silver tag inscribed with the phrase "Life's A Bitch And So Am I" in red letters. She took the car key and placed it into the slot on the steering column and turned the ignition, all the while thinking tenderly of her beau, Biff, praying fervently for the rapid healing of his mottled skin, and hoping that by the time she reached him at Bart’s Bistro on South Main Street, his handsome face would be miraculously clear and the hurricane would have already been named Brian...

Chapter 3:  Wherein Mary Attempts to Leave the Driveway and Go Somewhere

After turning the key in the ignition of her pearl painted Honda Civic with gray leather bucket seats and ensuring a wrinkle-free secured seat belt, Mary checked her side mirrors, glanced into her rearview mirror, and shifted her car into reverse. She considered turning on the car radio but drew her hand back at the last moment, realizing that if the news was on and the weatherman should happen to speak, he may reveal the name of the potential hurricane, and if by some chance it was "Biff" she simply couldn't bear to hear the news when she was alone.  No, best to wait until she was with her beau, and they would face it together.

She applied just the right amount of pressure to the accelerator and backed the car down the driveway. Just as she reached the end, she moved her foot to the brake pedal and stopped the car, realizing that she was still distracted by thoughts about the ding in the door, the hurricane situation, and Biff’s recent forehead eruption.  In fact, she was so concerned she no longer felt able to drive, so she moved her right hand from the steering wheel to the gear shift and shifted into “park”. 

She reached into her purse, past her wallet containing twenty-two dollars and thirty-one cents, her Visa, library card and license; past her makeup case with her lipstick, blush and mascara, and finally located her cell phone.  It was a Verizon LG Smartphone in Electric Blue, and she had a precious photo of a Siamese kitten as a wallpaper on the screen, which she had downloaded from an LOL Cats website.  She quickly located Biff’s number, which was the third listed on her Contacts, and pressed the speed dial button.

Mary waited patiently at the end of her driveway while it rang four times.  She searched the sky above her as she waited, in the fervent hope that the robin would appear once more so that she could determine its gender and share the knowledge with Biff, but it had disappeared in yet another depressing development of the day.  She soon had to endure yet another disappointment as Biff did not answer, and she listened to his ringback tone of “I Like Big Butts And I Cannot Lie” before hearing the beep of his voicemail.  “Hello, Biff,” she said, “Please call me as soon as you can.  I am desperately worried and need to speak with you as soon as possible.”  She slid the phone shut and placed it back inside her purse, between the makeup bag and the brown leather Buxton wallet. She briefly considered the relevance of Biff’s ring tone in relation to the dimensions of her own backside and whether or not he would, in fact, be truthful in its description, but forced herself to set aside such distractions for the moment. With a heavy sigh (which, this time, could definitely be heard from across at least a large dining table), she decided that yes, she could bring herself to proceed with her errand even without having spoken to Biff.

Thus resolved, she put the gear shift into reverse once more, looked left and right and backed from the driveway.  She shifted into drive and proceeded at a cautious and legal speed toward the end of her road.  Seeing the stop sign up ahead, she slowed the car from 25, to 24, to 23….finally, she came to a complete stop.  She looked left, right, and left again, and seeing no other traffic, she crossed the intersection and continued on her way, employing (as always) the method of Defensive Driving she had learned long ago during her Driver’s Ed classes.  Even driving legally and defensively, she could still make it to the post office with plenty of time to spare before meeting Biff at Bart’s for brunch.

Just as she turned into the post office parking lot, a brick building at 321 Post Street which hadfourteen windows on street side, her cell phone rang.  She reached into her proper periwinkle and yellow purse and withdrew the phone.  Happily, it was Biff.

“Oh, Biff, I’m so glad you called!”
“Mary, you sounded upset in your message.  Is everything all right? I was just preparing for our brunch date.”
Mary sighed loudly into the Electric Blue Verizon LG Smartphone.  “No, Biff, everything is not all right!” she admitted. “Not only do we need to worry about that hurricane, but I realized that I still have the ding in the car, and there are slugs in my new lawn, I don't have nearly enough information about the robin, and your…” Mary paused, considering mentioning Biff’s unfortunate blemish, but decided against it for fear of upsetting him or inadvertently causing him to attempt to look at it without a mirror again.  When he’d tried that last night, he’d become very unattractively cross-eyed and odd-looking, and Mary certainly didn’t want it to happen again, even if she couldn’t see it.  It simply didn’t bear thinking about.
“Well. That’s neither here nor there, I suppose.  Although, there is one more thing,” she said quietly. She had avoided thinking about this subject all morning, but with her inability to share the correct gender identity of the bird she’d observed and the necessity of skirting around the facial eruption topic, it seemed unavoidable.  “It has to do with…unpacking boxes.”
Biff remained silent.
Oh dear, Mary thought, ignoring the honks of the motorists behind her in the parking lot who apparently disagreed with her decision to stop in the center of the lot the very moment her phone rang. What if he won’t help?  What will I do then?
As the line of cars behind her piled up – there was a blue Toyota Tercel directly behind her, followed by a white Chrysler LeBaron, a black GMC Sierra pickup truck, and now a green Volkswagon Passat, whose owner was making a gesture that didn’t bear acknowledgement by a proper young lady – Mary sat and waited breathlessly for Biff’s response...

Will Biff help Mary?
Will she ever make it to Bart's in time for Brunch?
Will she find the courage to drive out of the post office parking lot?
Did the blighting blemish clear up?
Stay tuned for the next episode!


Biff and Mary, Chapters 4 and 5

Welcome back for another episode of "The Amorous Adventures of Biff and Mary"!

(Note:  As much of this is already written, I will be updating frequently, as time allows, though not on a regular schedule. Please feel free to check back or subscribe for new posts!)

Need to catch up?
Previous chapters:
Introducing Biff and Mary

Hope to bring a smile to your face today! :)

Chapter 4: Mary’s Journey Toward the Bistro Continues…

When we last checked in with our devoted and descriptive duo, poor blemished Biff was preparing for brunch and our exceptionally ensembled Mary was breathlessly awaiting his response to her enigmatic statement about unpacking boxes…

Mary switched her cell phone to her right hand and used her left to push the button on her door, closing her windows to block out the cacophony of blowing horns emanating from the Toyota, the Chrysler, the GMC and the Volkswagon, which had now been joined by a Mustang and a Prius. She was determined to stay right where she was, knowing that her beloved beau, Biff, deserved her undivided attention and certain that if she had a moment (or two…or possibly three) to devote to explaining her various dilemmas to the crowd of motorists behind her, they would surely understand and would very happily wait until she was ready to drive again.  This thought brought about an overall feeling of solidarity and companionship with her new friends in the post office parking lot and she spared a moment to look over her shoulder at the line of cars behind her to offer them her most grateful and dazzling Crest White Strips smile, perfectly set off by the careful outlining of her lips in Cover Girl Long Wear Lipstick in Coquettish Coral and finished off with a precisely choreographed wave, flawlessly emulating that of Her Majesty The Queen, who had waved so beautifully to the crowds of well-wishers at the wedding of her grandson, Prince William, to the lovely and fashionable Kate Middleton.

Accepting the increased horn-blowing and various gestures from driver’s side windows as tribute to her kind acknowledgement of their understanding, Mary turned her attention back to the Verizon LG Smartphone in her hand, from which emanated the politely delicate throat-clearing sounds of her beau, Biff.
“…uh, Mary?  Are you still there?”
“Oh, yes!  Of course I am, Biff!” Mary answered.  “I’m sorry; I was a bit distracted by my new friends for a moment. You were saying….?”
“Yes. I was just asking…what boxes?”
“Oh! Well, the boxes I moved here with, of course.”
“Mary, you moved here three months ago.  Haven’t you finished the unpacking yet?”
“Well…no, I haven’t, Biff.  You see, I was waiting for my neighbors to gather and come over to welcome me and naturally I thought that when they did, they would offer to unpack for me and do some yard work and cleaning and install new kitchen tile and such, but so far I’ve only seen little Lily Littleton whose mother sent her with a plate of brownies in March…”
“Okay,” Biff said. “Why don’t we talk this over at brunch, Mary?  I’m sure we can come up with something, but at the moment my hair is drying without the blow dryer, and I cringe to think…’
“Oh! Of course, Biff!” Mary interrupted, determinedly blocking the vision of Biff with bedhead and a blemish from her mind. “You go on, and I’ll see you at Bart’s!”
Biff said goodbye and Mary pressed the disconnect button on her Verizon LG Smartphone and placed it back into her periwinkle and yellow checked handbag between the Buxton wallet and her makeup bag, being sure to zip the purse carefully and set it on the seat beside her before turning to offer another bright smile at her increasing crowd of supporters in the line of cars behind her.  She shifted into drive and searched for a parking spot, overcome by the apparent heartfelt support of the well-wishing cheers emanating from the vehicles behind her as she drove away.

Chapter 5:  Wherein Mary Arrives at the Bistro

When Mary had arrived at Bart’s Bistro, there was no sign of Biff.
She asked for a table by the window so she could watch for his arrival and simultaneously avoid the weather reports on the television by the coffee bar, as she still couldn't bear to face the possibility of learning that Biff's future may well be formed by a tropical storm event and its eventual naming, but once she'd been seated she became distracted by the window itself.  The glass was clear, and the window was tastefully decorated with lovely brocade curtains in Bart’s signature colors of blue and brown, edged with decorative satin fringe in ivory, regrettably only machine-stitched rather than hand-sewn but quite nice nonetheless, she thought.
However, there was a bit of unsightly dust gathered in the corner of the mahogany-stained window sill as well as what appeared to be a wing part from a dead fly and Mary shuddered to think of how she could possibly eat her Caesar’s Salad with Grilled Chicken and a side order of Minestrone soup with one-quarter teaspoon of Parmesan sprinkled on top if she knew that all along, there was a fly part resting amongst the dust approximately six-and-three-quarter-inches from the edge of her table. Even if she did manage, she was sure that she’d never be able to enjoy herself enough to fully appreciate the espresso and homemade tiramisu afterward. Knowing that Bart and his staff prided themselves on their exquisite taste and cleanliness and certain that her comfort was surely utmost in the mind of her server, Mary searched the room to find her and flag her down just at the moment her beau, Biff, walked through the door.

As usual, Biff’s entrance garnered not a few stares from appreciative women.  Tall, lightly tanned and well built from his daily afternoons on the tennis court, he was dressed in perfectly-pressed navy blue slacks from Nordstrom’s, with a matching jacket and a pale gray business shirt (Saks), informally unbuttoned at the neck in the most appropriate fashion for a romantic brunch with his girl.  Mary was relieved to see that she hadn’t distracted him too badly from his toilette earlier, as his blonde hair with approximately twenty-three darker shades streaked throughout was styled and clearly blow-dried to perfection, as usual.  She sighed appreciatively but not heavily, sighing the kind of sigh one sighs when one spots the wonderful man who is the love of one’s life, and then raised her hand slightly to guide him to their table.  He spotted her and smiled, and Mary squinted a bit to try to ascertain the condition of the unsightly blemish but quickly realized he was still too far away.  She  tore her gaze away as he approached, glancing shyly down at demurely-clasped hands in her lap, as was expected of a polite and well-appointed young lady of breeding.

“So sorry to keep you waiting, Mary,” Biff said, tossing his head to flip back the perfectly coiffed forelock that tended to drift with dashing derring-do into his left eye. “Traffic was simply horrendous, my Prius had barely charged, and I was already running late because I had to re-do my hair.”
“Oh, perfectly understandable,” Mary said. “Think nothing of it.”
She squinted again as she looked into Biff’s face and was at first relieved to note that the blemish was not apparent today, but then began squinting more because she wasn’t sure, but she thoughtshe’d caught the barest glimpse of residue from what was likely an application of Revlon Cover-It-Up Concealer in Light/Medium followed by a strategic dusting of matching Revlon Age-Is-Just-A-Number Matte Powder to set it…
“Have you ordered anything?” Biff asked, interrupting her train of thought as he removed his jacket with his usual grace before folding it carefully and placing it on the seat next to him.
“No, I was waiting for you, of course,” Mary replied. “And I was also thinking about calling the server over to do something about these unfortunate fly bits here by the…”  She gestured toward the windowsill and glanced out toward the parking area.
“Wait a minute…is that…?  Yes, I think it is!” she exclaimed, rising from her seat and peering toward the entrance.  “It is her!”
“Her, who?” Biff asked, his brows drawing down in a confused frown that effectively hid the small portion of his face where the blemish may still, in fact, exist.  He twisted slightly in his seat to follow her gaze.
Mary waved frantically toward the entrance.  “BITSY!!"

(to be continued)

Who is Bitsy?
Will Mary be able to enjoy brunch in spite of the insect parts nearby?
Will we learn more about Biff’s talent with concealer  and the possible hurricane nomenclature?

Stay tuned!  

Biff and Mary: Chapters 6 and 7

Welcome back for more Biff and Mary!
For those who'd like to read from the beginning, I've added a separate page which contains the entire story up to this point (check navigation bar, above).  I will add to it each time I post an update.
Hope you enjoy today's chapters! :)

Chapter 6: Wherein Biff Befriends Bitsy

Mary leapt up from her seat as her friend drew near, drawing her into a warm hug before turning toward Biff, who had risen in a gentlemanly fashion, as one did when a woman approached one’s table, if one had been raised right. 
“Biff, meet Bitsy Buffington, my best friend from Buffalo!”
She turned to Bitsy.  “Bitsy, my beau, Biff!”
Biff grasped Bitsy’s hand with a firm-but-definitely-not-too-firm amount of pressure, as was appropriate when a man was introduced to a woman.  “A pleasure, Miss Buffington.”
“Oh, please call me Bitsy!” she said, “Everyone does!”
Bitsy was petite and poised, and enveloped in a tasteful ensemble consisting of a pink and white pinstriped linen skirt with four one-inch rose-colored buttons at the side, its hem approximately two and one-half inches above her knees, topped by a lightweight cashmere sweater set in Powder Pink, purchased at Prudence’s Practical Petites Boutique in Poughkeepsie, finished with two-inch heeled matching pumps and tasteful teardrop pearl earrings.  Her hair was red – not so dark red as to be auburn, nor copper, nor ginger, nor most any other usual shade of red – no, it was a striking strawberry blonde which perfectly complemented her cerulean blue eyes and pouty pink lips, rendering her overall loveliness close but not nearly matching the blonder beauty of the lovely young lady next to her, Biff thought as he refocused his attention on his own gorgeous gal, Mary.
“Would you care to join us, Bitsy?” Biff asked, gesturing at the chair next to Mary’s.
“Oh no, I couldn’t possibly intrude,” Bitsy demurred. “Besides, I’m afraid I have a previous engagement. Although, I suppose I could sit for just a moment…if you’re sure you wouldn’t mind?”
“Certainly not,” Biff stated definitively, pulling her chair out for her. 
Once seated, the three spent a few minutes chatting about one another’s lives, their homes, hybrid cars and favorite styling products.  Mary was thrilled to be able to introduce her bosom buddy Bitsy to her best beau Biff, and spent a silent moment appreciating them until her attention was suddenly drawn to the 19 inch Samsung Flat Screen TV mounted on the wall above the coffee bar.  The screen displayed a weather map in various meaningless-to-Mary colors, being pointed to by Kirk “Just-Call-Me-Cumulonimbus” Kirkland, the chief meteorologist of Channel 10 News.
“Biff!” she squeaked in alarm, reaching across the polished table to grasp his manly forearm.

Chapter 7:  In Which Biff and Mary’s Love is Tested

“Mary?” Biff asked, cut off in mid-sentence as he’d been describing the environmentally-correct upholstry of his prized Prius to Bitsy. “Are you all right?”
Mary nodded toward the television screen, where Kirk Kirkland was still pointing at the map.  A banner scrolled across the bottom of the screen and Biff and Mary exchanged an anxious glance as they realized that the moment had come --  Biff’s future could very well be determined in the next few minutes, as they were about to learn whether or not he would henceforth share his distinguished moniker with a horrific tropical storm.
As the two lovers grasped one another’s hands in silent solidarity, Bitsy looked at them in confusion until she followed their gazes to the screen of the Samsung Flat Screen TV.
“The weather? What…?”
But Biff and Mary couldn’t spare a moment to illuminate the particulars for Bitsy, because right at that very minute Kirk “Cumulonimbus” Kirkland’s expression changed and his usually-brightly-blinding smile momentarily disappeared as he pointed at the map, and the scroll at the bottom declared “The tropical storm being watched for the last twenty-four hours has been upgraded to…”
Mary squeezed her eyes shut involuntarily, and then forced herself to open them.  She had to be strong.  She must be strong!  She needed to be there for her beloved beau, Biff, no matter what happened. She knew that their love would see them through any storm – even one named “Hurricane Biff.”  She looked at the screen.
“…but the storm is expected to head back out to sea, and Hurricane Bruce is unlikely to…”
Biff and Mary cheered, startling a number of patrons at Bart’s Bistro, including their own guest, Bitsy, and they rose from the table and embraced, then stood together, hands clasped, mutually overcome with relief.
“Oh, Biff,” Mary breathed as she gazed up at him, smiling tremulously.
“Mary,” Biff replied, gazing back. “What a relief! Thank you for standing by me through it all.  It means the world to me to have my best gal by my side!”  He kissed her cheek tenderly, right there in the middle of Bart’s Bistro.
A sigh emanating from their table drew their attention; it was a heavy sigh, the exact kind that one sighs when one is overcome by the emotion of seeing two clearly destined lovers displaying public affection to one another, and it came from Mary’s friend, Bitsy. She reached into her pink leather Gucci handbag with matching leather tassles and a double-horse-head clasp, and withdrew a pure white monogrammed handkerchief with one inch lace stitched all around the edges, and proceeded to dab at the corner of her expressive cerulean blue eyes, so happy to witness the love her friend had found in her beau, Biff, and the apparent strength of their union.
Biff and Mary politely returned to their respective seats and Mary explained the hurricane scare, which of course Bitsy empathized with, expressing her concern for the extreme amount of stress the situation must have caused both Biff and Mary.  
What with Bitsy’s arrival, the culmination of the hurricane situation, and her tender moment with Biff, Mary forgot all about the fly parts on the sill and the necessity of discussing boxes with Biff and the three of them chatted happily until Bitsy bade them farewell so that she could meet with her own brunch date, her sister, Mitzi.
Alone together once more, Biff and Mary ordered their meals and gazed happily at one another across the table for approximately two minutes and fifteen seconds (give or take) until Biff finally broke the silence.
“Mary, there is something important I wanted to ask you…”

(to be continued)

What is Biff’s important question?
Will whatever he has to say affect Mary’s enjoyment of her Caesar Salad or Tiramisu?
Will she remember the fly wing at all?
And will Biff’s concealer hold through the entire meal?
Tune in next time! 


Welcome back for more Biff and Mary!
Hope this chapter provides an amusing start to your weekend! J

We last left our effusively extravagant and extremely obtuse protagonists at cliff’s edge, as Mary – basking in the relief of a Hurricane finally named Bruce – awaits the rest of Biff’s question…

Chapter 8:  In Which Mary and Biff Converse on Very Important Subjects

Mary felt her heart stop.  
It started beating again almost instantly, to her great relief, but before that happened it felt as though it had stopped and dropped directly into her stomach.  Her memories of fourth-grade basic human anatomy studies assured her that this was more than likely not possible, but still it felt that way, and filled her mind momentarily with a curious vision of her heart sharing space next to her forthcoming Caesar Salad and Tiramisu, sloshing around with espresso and mineral water and a dollop of whipped cream, but happily this disturbing image vanished quickly as the reality of Biff’s intriguing words sank into her brain (which luckily hadn’t dropped anywhere, as yet. As far as she knew.).
Biff’s voice broke into her anatomical meanderings and she shook her head to clear it.
“Uh, yes, Biff.  What was it that you wanted to ask me?” she said, as calmly as she could.
Could this be IT? she wondered.  Could this be the moment she had dreamed of since she’d played with her Barbie and Ken dolls and their Town House, Camper and sporty convertible of undetermined make and model so long ago? Could Biff be asking her THE question?  She glanced down at her nails, vaguely wishing she’d chosen a different color at the salon, because the plum color simply wouldn’t set off the shining grandeur of a…
Her thoughts cut off abruptly once more as Biff cleared his throat nervously, looking uncharacteristically lacking in confidence as he shifted his gaze to the table.
“Well, I wanted to ask you if…er…that is, if you would consider….”
Biff looked at her, the corner of his mouth turned up sheepishly, yet rakishly.
“Would you consider…well, would you mind telling me if the concealer I used on that devilish blemish is the right shade for my complexion?”
Mary’s heart dropped. Again.  Only this time, it didn’t travel all the way to her stomach, but rather lodged somewhere at the base of her throat, or seemed to, although the aforementioned anatomy lessons would also preclude such a reality.  It stayed there, however, and Mary swallowed past it, attempting to quell the rising shade of pink that had rushed to her cheeks as she realized her beloved Biff’s question had not, in fact, been the one she’d hoped for...
Mary sighed softly, almost soft enough so that Biff wouldn’t hear her, and firmly reminded herself that it was still early in the dawn of their love…. After all, they’d only been dating for one-hundred-eighty-two-and-approximately-one-third days.  She had lived two towns over up until three months ago, but moved here to Loversville mostly to be closer to Biff, who she knew was her fated love who was destined to sweep her off her feet at just the right moment, and also because before she moved to town, she somehow managed to get lost nearly every time she drove out to see him.  No matter which way she turned, all she ever heard from her GPS was “Recalculating…recalculating….turn ri….recalculating…bear lef…recalculating…”  She couldn’t imagine what was wrong, and had switched from the Garmin Nuvi GPS to a new TomTom, but the issue persisted…she finally decided to find a home that was only a few miles from her beloved Biff, and one which required no turns between her house and his.
“If you’d rather not share your cosmetic secrets, Mary, I certainly understand…”
Once again, Biff’s voice broke into her reverie.
“Oh, I’m sorry Biff…I was just thinking about my GPS.  Of course I can help!”
Mary pasted a pleasant smile on her face and gazed intently at Biff’s.  She gradually steeled herself to look directly at the blemish, and was relieved to note that it did appear rather well concealed.
“Honestly, Biff, I think you’ve done a wonderful job!  Is that Revlon Cover-me-Up in Fair Maiden Ivory?”
“Why, yes, it is!” Biff said proudly. “Well done, Mary!”
Mary batted her eyelashes demurely and smiled a soft smile.
“Do you think it works well on my skin? On the tone, I mean?” Biff asked. “I wasn’t sure…”
“Yes, I do.  A perfect choice, Biff!”
“Wonderful!  Thank you for looking at it…I’m sure it wasn’t a pleasant ordeal for you…”
“Biff, you know that I’d do anything for you,” Mary said sincerely, batting her eyelashes a quarter time more quickly than usual, in emphasis.
Biff’s eyes widened suddenly.
“I almost forgot! What was it you said earlier, about needing help with boxes?”
“Oh, yes,” Mary said. She was glad she had finally mentioned it to him. Though she’d been in town a few months, she had not yet had Biff to her own home, so determined was she to master the driving route to his house. It seemed that even straight routes came with an occasional challenge...Considering her disappointment in the lack of neighborly assistance, she’d have to impose on Biff.
“I was hoping that perhaps you could come by tomorrow and help me to open the boxes and put things away, if you have time…I know you have your weekly mani-pedi at Manuel's Mani's on Saturdays, and the tennis lesson as well, so…”
“Of course I will, Mary!” Biff told her with a smile. “In fact, I am sure that I could skip just one mani-pedi…or maybe reschedule it for later in the day…Manuel is very accommodating.”
“Thank you so much!” Mary said enthusiastically, then frowned as a thought occurred to her. “But Biff, I’m not at all sure what we need to do to prepare for such things…”
Biff’s brows drew down as well.  In fact, it appeared that Biff was baffled.
“Hmmm….well, I suppose I could ask Tony. He’s our estate handyman, and seems to know about tools and work-type things and such.  I’m sure he could advise me.”
“That would be wonderful Biff!” Mary enthused. “I knew that I could count on you to figure this out. You can do anything!” She batted her eyes again, attempting to add a loving look to the enthusiastic blinking.
Biff smiled brightly, briefly causing Mary to wonder if the Rembrandt Whitening System he used was actually more effective than her Crest White Strips.
Biff leaned across the table, gazing lovingly into her eyes. “Mary, it’s all you, you know.  You make me feel I can do anything. I...I...”
And with that, he leaned closer…and closer….and even closer….

(to be continued)

Will Mary change brands of tooth whitener?
Will Biff’s consultation with Tony ultimately place a box cutting implement in his well-manicured hands?
Is Biff actually going to *really* kiss Mary, right there in the middle of brunch at Bart’s Bistro?
Tune in next time! J


Welcome back for another installment of Biff and Mary!
Sorry for the delay in posting new chapters...
For those who want to start from the beginning, click the "Biff and Mary" tab above, or here: Biff and Mary
As usual, within this next chapter we will be treated to our beloved TSTL heroine’s every vapid thought, Biff’s general buff-ness, and excessive description of every little thing.  You may also notice some really poor transitioning, run-on sentences and unfortunate alliteration.
Enjoy! J

Chapter 9: In Which Brunch is Served and Boxes are Contemplated

When we last left our lovebirds, Biff was professing his affection for Mary over a table at Bart’s Bistro, leaning toward her with obvious intent…

A pale, freckled arm with four silver bracelets clanking at the wrist unceremoniously inserted itself between Biff and Mary, placing a basket of rolls and butter between them and causing Biff to settle back into his seat.
Mary swallowed back her disappointment as well as her annoyance at the timing of the wrist’s owner, their server Lorraine. She smiled at her politely instead.
“Your salads’ll be right up,” Lorraine announced, spinning quickly on her heel to head back toward the kitchen, the damage done.
Biff cleared his throat politely and reached for the basket, holding it out to Mary.  She declined and smiled at him winningly, wondering how to recapture that romantic moment so suddenly and sadly interrupted. She stole another glance at Biff, studiously setting her gaze below his blemished brow in order to fully appreciate the view, then sighed with resignation, unrolled her beige linen napkin and set it on her lap in preparation for her Caesar Salad.
The following morning, Mary woke early and went immediately to the shower to prepare for her unpacking day with her beloved beau, Biff.
She washed her hair with Paul Mitchell Extra Body Daily Shampoo, followed by Paul Mitchell Extra Body Daily Rinse, and sudsed up her loofah with Origins Fresh Waterlily Bodybar, then washed and shaved with her Daisy razor. 
Once finished in the shower, she was toweling off leisurely when she heard a tiny yelp from outside the bathroom door.
“Poopsie!” she exclaimed, grabbing a plush terrycloth robe from the back of the door before opening it.
“Oh, Poopsie, I’m sorry!” she said, reaching down to scoop the pup into her arms. “I forgot all about taking you out for your morning constitutional!”  She shuffled down the hall, skirting around boxes, all the way through to the back door.  She stepped outside and set Poopsie down on the long grass.  The pouty Pomeranian stared up at her sullenly before shaking her mass of fur – tinted a pretty, powdery pink at Paulette’s Pampered Pooch Emporium on the corner of Pearl and Pickwick – and stalking toward the backyard azaleas, her tail curled high over her backside and the glittered, hot pink nails on her paws sparkling in the sunshine.
“Oh, Poopsie, don’t be like that,” Mary implored, nervously touching her damp hair. If she didn’t style it soon, who knew if she’d be ready when Biff arrived? She certainly wasn’t willing to let him see her undone!
“I’m sorry I forgot you this morning, sweetiekins.  I’m just so excited about Biff coming here today!”
The Pomeranian pointedly ignored her, clearly humiliated at the need to beg for such a basic necessity, as if she were a common dog!
As Mary cooed endearments from the back door, Poopsie continued to snub her defiantly, then finished her business behind the flowering bush and sauntered slowly toward Mary, stopping every few steps to sniff at a dandelion or bug, ignoring her owner’s encouragement to hurry.  Finally, she wandered close enough to be scooped up in Mary’s arms and brought back inside.
Mary shut the door and pulled the tab top to open a can of Chef Michael’s Pork Tenderloin Flavor Pate. She took a stainless steel spoon from a box on the charcoal-gray granite counter and scooped the food into Poopsie’s hot pink, personalized ceramic bowl, then set it on the velvet placemat in the corner of the kitchen.  Poopsie watched her sedately from her seat on the purple and yellow kitchen rug, then got up and went to the bowl, sniffing it delicately before reaching out a tiny pink tongue to taste it. She licked twice, then promptly turned her nose up and regally exited the room.
“Poopsie, you have to eat, sweetie!” Mary called to her, following her into the living room.  Poopsie was turning in small circles on her plush purple pillow in the corner by the fireplace, finally settling down and resting her chin on pink-nailed paws, gazing off at some far more interesting point beyond Mary’s shoulder.
Mary sighed, “you really are mad at me aren’t you?”  Poopsie closed her eyes, clearly bored by the events.
Mary shook her head, then headed back toward the master bath. She knew she needed to make it up to her precious Poopsie, but she simply couldn’t wait any longer, or Biff would see her with wet hair and without her makeup, an unimaginable faux-pas.

Chapter Ten: In Which Biff Encounters a Cranky Canine

The doorbell rang thirty-one minutes later, and Mary rushed down the hall to answer the door.  She hadn’t been quite sure what to wear for the dreaded unpacking of boxes, which was something she had certainly expected others to offer to do for her, but if it was what she needed to do to show Biff what a perfectly capable woman she was, she’d do it!  Thus, she’d dressed casually, in a pair of plum-colored pedal pushers, with white cotton blouse with delicate cap sleeves and a pair of two-and-one-half-inch-cork-heeled sandals from which her purple pedicured toes peeked.  Amethyst earrings and a matching necklace and bracelet completed her ensemble – perfect, she thought, for a casual day doing….something…with all the boxes.  And Biff.
Mary opened the door to find her beloved Biff standing on her new Welcome mat, which she’d purchased just yesterday at The Home Depot for the advertised low-low price of $17.99, plus tax.  Biff smiled roguishly, as he was wont to do, and Mary melted where she stood on the misty green ceramic tiled foyer floor.
He’d chosen a pair of relaxed vintage blue jeans from Banana Republic, paired with a pique polo in Navy Star blue with its collar turned up, which set off his dreamy blue eyes and bright smile.  He wore a 1-3/4 inch brown leather belt with distressed metal buckle and brown suede oxford shoes. He carried a small brown leather satchel in the same shade as his belt and shoes, along with the key ring that held the keys to his prized Prius as well as a key to his front door, back door, entry gate, and safety deposit box.
“Good morning, Mary,” he said, giving his head a handsome little flip which set his sun-kissed blond with approximately 23 darker streaks hair drifting upwards for a moment before it settled with a dashing air slightly over the outer third of his left eyebrow.
“Good morning, Biff,” Mary breathed, momentarily mesmerized by the magnificent manliness before her. 
“You are looking lovely today, as always,” Biff said. “Er…may I come in?”
“Oh!” Mary snapped out of her love-induced-daze and stepped back, waving vaguely toward the interior of the house. “Yes, of course!”
Biff stepped inside just as a low growl emanated from the living room doorway.
Poopsie’s powder pink head peeked around the corner, and she started barking ferociously, the pastel pink polka-dot bow on her head bobbing dangerously to the left as the force of her efforts lifted all four paws from the floor repeatedly.
“Poopsie! Is that any way to greet our guest?” Mary chastised as she reached down to scoop up the pup. “This is Biff, Poopsie.  Biff, this is my precious Poopsie!”  She grasped Poopsie’s pink-tipped paw in her hand and waved at Biff with it.
Biff’s smile widened and he stepped closer, reaching his hand out palm-up toward Poopsie.
“So, this is the lovely Poopsie I’ve heard so much about!”
As his hand drifted ever closer, the left side of Poopsie’s mouth lifted ever higher, exposing tiny, well-brushed, sharp canines.  She growled deeply then lunged toward Biff.

(to be continued)

Will Poopsie puncture Biff’s perfect palm?
What’s in Biff’s satchel?
Will Mary and Biff battle boxes without wrinkling their well-pressed ensembles?
Tune in next time! J


Welcome to the next chapter of Biff and Mary!

(click here for all previous chapters)

Today's installment will include our usual shallow-but-lovable characters, extraneous description, and unnecessary and unfortunate alliteration. It will also serve as an example of  an unfortunate authorial decision to build an entire chapter out of one very, very brief moment -- but hopefully with a bit of humor as well.  ;)

Hope you enjoy! 

Chapter Eleven:  In Which There Are Screams, Stumbles, and Stubbornly Stuck Posteriors

It occurred to Mary that she had never heard quite such an exceedingly high-pitched tone emanate from Biff’s roguishly handsome lips before. 

The sound that escaped her beloved as Poopsie’s perfectly white, perfectly sharp canines punctured the pad of his thumb reminded her briefly of the piercingly shrill sounds of the first grade playground at Mayfield Elementary, when she and the other six-year-old girls made a game of trying to shriek as loudly as they could. She’d won most of those squealing contests, she recalled, but hearing Biff now she wondered whether she’d overestimated her own elocutionary talents.

As the sound of Biff’s involuntary scream faded, Mary shook herself out of her shock and dismay enough to stumble two steps backward with her suddenly ferocious pup. Regrettably, one of her many unpacked boxes sat approximately one and one half steps behind her and thus the result of her movement caused her to fall unceremoniously backward, and her backside wedged firmly inside the now-broken top of the box, cushioned by the various sheets, towels and fripperies within. She had barely a moment to be grateful that she’d landed in the linens box, rather than the one containing her grandmother’s crystal, before Poopsie darted from her arms.  Mary let out her own startled scream, immediately realizing that it didn’t even come close to the high pitch and duration of Biff’s, but deciding that perhaps it didn’t matter, considering her precious pup’s peril and the precariously perched position of her posterior.

What did matter, she soon realized, was that the moment she tripped, Biff intuitively moved toward her to attempt to break her fall, and Poopsie elected to continue her proactive efforts to protect Mary from the intruder by charging toward Biff’s feet with a ferocious and determined little snarl, clamping onto the hem of his fashionably expensive relaxed vintage blue jeans from Banana Republic.  Much to Mary’s chagrin, Biff instinctively shook her off, and her little Poopsie took flight across the misty green ceramic tiled foyer floor, spinning around in a blur of pastel pink fluff until she came to a stop in the corner by the door, her landing cushioned by the small pile of newspapers Mary had placed there prior to taking them out to the recycling bin.

The brief, sudden silence that ensued was broken by all three of them simultaneously, with Poopsie’s yelp of surprise overshadowed at once by Biff’s horrified exclamation of “Good Heavens! Is she all right?” and Mary’s equally horrified shriek of “Poopsie! My baby!” 

Hastily dropping Mary’s hand, Biff started toward the stunned dog, inadvertently dumping Mary back into the box of linens, where her bottom settled more firmly in amongst the pale yellow 1000 thread count Egyptian cotton sheets and plush towels.

Biff stopped in his tracks, however, apparently thinking better of once again approaching the protective pup. He glanced back at Mary, who had by then managed to tip the box onto its side and was clumsily trying to scramble out, arms waving wildly, her plum-colored pedal pusher clad legs scissoring swiftly as her two and one-half-inch cork heels struggled to find purchase on the tiled floor.  Biff glanced at the little pink dog, then back to pink-faced Mary, then the dog, finally settling on Mary and hurrying back to her.

Once Biff had freed her from the box, Mary silently collected a decidedly more sedate Poopsie from the corner and brought her through the house to the back door. She settled her out in the fenced-in yard with several toys, bones and murmured endearments before turning back to her beloved, bitten Biff with concern and apologies.
“No, Mary, it was my fault. I never thought…”
“It’s all right Biff. I assure you, she has never…”
“I hope I didn’t hurt the poor little…”
“No, no…she’s okay, it’s just she’s so light, barely weighs anything really, and she just hasn’t been eating well lately…maybe that’s why she’s so out of sorts…”
“I’m so relieved I didn’t hurt her – “
“Oh, Biff!” Mary interrupted, suddenly burying her face in her perfectly manicured hands as she burst into tears.
Biff’s mouth dropped open, shocked and stymied by this new turn in an already tumultuous course of unanticipated and disconcerting events.
Mary wiped at her eyes with one of the Bounty lunch napkins from the pile she’d gathered to dab at Biff’s pierced thumb, hiccuping as she tried to control her emotions. The realization that her morning makeup application was likely completely ruined by now did nothing to improve her current outlook.
“I just…I was so looking forward to having you here, letting you meet my precious Poopsie at last, and I just knew the two of you would love each other, and now it’s all…it’s all just…just ruined!”  She drew in a shaky, hiccuping breath, and then his arms were around her and thoughts of Poopsie fled her mind in a flash.
“Hush, darling,” Biff murmured into her hair. “Nothing is ruined…well, perhaps my jeans are rather tattered at the moment, as well as Manuel's rush manicure from earlier this morning…though it’s just one digit, I suppose…but still, I wouldn’t say that anything is so terribly ruined…”
Mary hiccuped again, but reveled nonetheless in the warm, masculine embrace of her beau, who smelled appropriately musky and citrusy and woodsy from his Burberry Sport cologne, which suited him perfectly, of course. Mary inhaled and sighed loudly, the sort of sigh one sighs when basking in the love of a good, manly-smelling man, and tilted her head back just enough to gaze lovingly into his eyes, pointedly ignoring the remains of the blemish, visible due to the recent smudging of the Revlon Cover-It-Up Concealer in Light/Medium that he’d applied this morning. She closed her eyes and felt his warm, minty-fresh Scope breath just before his lips met hers…

…to be continued…

Will Biff and Mary’s romantic moment prevail, or will their comedy of errors continue?
Will Poopsie persist in her petulance?
Will boxes be unpacked and satchels opened?
Tune in next time! :)

This chapter, we will continue the usual Biff-and-Mary shallow shenanigans accompanied by excessive description and utter silliness. Also, you will note an example of extremely unnatural, poorly punctuated and just-plain-bad dialogue in the beginning of Chapter 13. 

I stumbled upon a similar butchering of character conversation in a book I read recently, and the result -- specifically, my cringing in utter horror -- was something I thought best shared, so you are very welcome!  ;)

(Seriously, though -- please, please, I beg of you! -- don't ever write dialogue like this!)

Chapter 12: Wherein Biff Battles Boxes

Mary felt the soft pressure of Biff’s lips on hers and ran her hands up his shoulders and around his neck. The moment she inched her fingers up and into his hair, Biff pulled back suddenly.
“Biff? Is something wrong?”
“No, no, of course not,” Biff said, smiling as he patted down his hair, checking to be sure it was in place. 
Mary realized their moment had passed and decided that the best thing to do was change the subject.
“Do you think we should try to get started on these boxes, Biff?”  She gestured at the various piles of cardboard cartons that graced the room.
Biff smiled. “Of course!  In fact…” his voice trailed off as he walked back toward the front door to where The Poopsie Incident had occurred. He paused en route, checking his reflection in the mirror and combing his hand through his hair briefly before retrieving his leather satchel, which matched the belt he wore and was lying on the tile where he’d dropped it.  He brought it back to Mary.
“I discussed the box issue with Tony, our estate handyman, and he assured me that all I would need is…” Biff rummaged through the contents of the satchel, mumbling in frustration. “Now where is that….I know it’s in there…darn it!”  Finally, he gave up and kneeled on the floor, dumping the entire contents of the satchel onto the tiles. 
            As she viewed the contents of Biff’s satchel, Mary felt a moment of surprise as she realized that there were certainly some areas of grooming at which Biff excelled and, in fact, far surpassed her in terms of dedication.
            Spread out on the blue tiles was a brush, three different sized combs in blue, black and brown, a small bottle of Paul Mitchell Sculpting & Styling Glaze, a bottle of the same brand Unisex Flexible Hold Spray, and a small jar of Paul Mitchell for Men’s Medium-hold/Semi-Matte Styling Cream. Mary also spied a tube of dry shampoo and a travel-sized ceramic straightener. As she opened her mouth to ask the brand name of the straightener (she’d been looking for a new one herself), Biff swept aside the styling glaze and grabbed a small metal item. “Aha! There it is!”
“What is it, Biff?”
He quickly shoved all the hair products back into his satchel, rose from the floor and opened his hand. Nestled in his palm was a metal object, approximately four inches in length, with a sharp-looking blade protruding from one end.
“Tony gave it to me. It’s a box cutter!”
Biff used his other hand to turn a small screw on the side of the object, causing the sharp blade to extend further.
“See? The blade will open boxes quite easily, I understand.”
Mary reached out a hand toward the box cutter, but Biff drew it away with a small shake of his head.
“No, Mary. I think it best if I handle the box cutter myself. Tony showed me how to use it, and I wouldn’t want you to be harmed; it’s a Very Dangerous Tool.”
Mary nodded her head in solemn understanding.
“Well, where do you think we should start, Biff?”
The pair looked around the room and Biff knelt down by the nearest box. “Why not here?” he said, with one of those heart-stopping grins that always made Mary swoon.
With that, he reached out with the box cutter and sliced through the packing tape that sealed it. He then opened the flaps of the box and looked up at Mary triumphantly.
Mary clapped her hands together.  “Biff, you did it! How wonderful!”
She knelt beside him and together they began removing the contents of the box, which turned out to be mostly Mary’s copies of Vogue and People magazines, as well as her two favorite books: Fabulous Fashion for Refined Young Ladies, and Makeup Secrets of the Stars, 1955-2010.
Mary and Biff started making neat piles on the floor as they emptied the box, although both were soon distracted and Mary began flipping the pages of Makeup Secrets while Biff thumbed through a copy of Vogue.  However, Mary soon realized that at this rate, they would never accomplish what they intended, so she opened her mouth to interrupt Biff’s perusal of the article “Armani or Prada: How to Choose?, but the sound of the doorbell broke in at just that moment.

Chapter 13: In Which Lunch Arrives and Conversation Ensues

“Oh! That must be lunch!” Mary exclaimed, rising from the floor and rushing to the front door. She opened it to reveal a young man in a smart blue uniform, with the white lettering “Bart’s Bistro” embroidered over his left chest.  He held a paper bag with the Bart’s Bistro logo printed on it, and a delivery form in his other hand. 
“Hello!” Mary said.
“Hello. Are you Miss Mary Dawson?”
“Yes, I am.”
“I have a delivery for you. It is from Bart’s Bistro,” he said, lifting the bag toward Mary. “It is your lunch and there are also two bottles of water in the bag and napkins and plastic forks and spoons in case you need them.”
Mary took the bag from him and smiled. “Thank you very much.”
“You are welcome. Thank you and have a nice day. Goodbye.”
“Wait. Let me get my purse…”
“No need, Miss. The charge was put on your account and you don’t need to pay me anything right now because they will charge you later. I have many deliveries and cannot talk to you any more so have a nice day.”
“Oh, but I should give you…”
The young man shook his head. “No, do not worry because we do not accept tips. I must go to my next delivery now so goodbye.”
Mary closed the door and turned to Biff. “I hope you are hungry.”
Biff smiled and followed her to the kitchen. Mary set the bag on the table and unpacked two bottles of mineral water, two containers of Bart’s Best Fresh Garden Salad, two Turkey Club Sandwiches with Bacon, and two slices of Bart’s Berrylicious Pie.
As they began eating their lunch, Mary turned to Biff.
“Biff, there’s something I never asked you that I’ve always wondered…”
“Oh? Well, ask me anything, Mary!” Biff said, and he reached across the table to lay his hand over hers. “For you, I am an open book.”
Mary sighed for a moment, then said, “Well, I know your last name is Parker, and your first name is Bickford, even though you go by ‘Biff,’” she smiled at him lovingly.  “But what is your middle name?”
Biff stopped smiling abruptly, looking rather inexplicably panicked. “Er…why do you ask, Mary?”
“Oh, just wondering, really,” Mary said, and then laughed softly. “See, my middle name is Anne, and my family and I always joked that my initials spell out the word ‘MAD’,” she laughed again. “So I thought it would be fun to see if your initials spell anything.”
Biff slowly removed his hand from Mary’s, then used it to run nervously through his hair, apparently forgetting how hard he’d worked to achieve the tousled-but-not-really look.
“So, what’s your middle name, Biff?” Mary asked innocently.
As the inevitable moment had arrived, Biff grew paler and paler, and then let out the breath he’d been holding as he resigned himself to full disclosure.
“All right, Mary. I’ll tell you…”

(to be continued)

What could Biff’s middle name be, and why does it upset him?
Will his disclosure somehow threaten their fated love?
Will they ever unpack any more boxes?
Will anyone ever remember poor Poopsie in the back yard?


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 .


“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

Today's episode is brought to you by alliteration, autonomous body parts, unnecessary descriptions and a few common phrases I seem to see in nearly every book I've read lately (if you know which ones I mean and find them in the chapter, let me know in the comments!)Those of you who have read the previous chapters (just click the Biff and Mary tab, above, if you'd like to review) will recall that we last left our lovely couple in the doorway at Mary's house, with Mary embracing a strange man, leaving poor Biff stunned and stymied...

Chapter Fifteen: In Which Biff Becomes Excessively Envious

Biff stood silently behind Mary, in an uncomfortable quandary, wondering if he should interrupt her embrace of the unknown man or sustain his stoic nonchalant stance. As he frowned at the affectionate display in the doorway, a sparkle outside drew his attention and he gazed over Phillipe’s red Robert Graham garrison sport shirt-clad shoulder at the car parked at the end of the drive. It was a BMW 1 Series Sport Edition Convertible in Carbon Black metallic paint finish with 18” M light alloy V-spoke wheels, adaptive Xenon headlights, shiny chrome accents and tailpipe and polished black vertical bars in the distinctive kidney grille. The slowly setting sun caused the BMW’s shadow to hover ominously over Biff’s practical Prius, which – as he saw now – really needed to be washed, dried, and buffed to a proper shine, though it would likely never have the perfectly polished presence of Phillipe’s vehicle.

Biff sighed and his eyes moved away from the driveway drama, only to find that the Phillipe/Mary embrace disturbingly continued. Just as Biff was reaching out to poke a proprietary pinkie on Phillipe’s admirably clothed arm, Mary finally drew back and away, though her smile was wide and bright and not directed at Biff at all.

“Oh, Phillipe! I can’t believe you’re here!  How did you ever know where to find me?” Mary bubbled as she ignored Biff.

Phillipe flipped his medium-length brown-with-reddish-highlights hair back out of his chocolate brown eyes and flashed Mary a stunningly spectacular grin.
“I stopped by your parents’ place, and your mother was very accommodating with your address, so I jumped in the Beamer and headed straight for Loversville!”

“But, but I thought you were in Paris until fall!”

Phillipe’s eyes rolled heavenward with exquisite ennui. “Paris simply bored me, Mary. One can take only so many parties and fashion shows and yachts, after all. So, here I am! Back to see my lovely Mary!” Phillipe grasped Mary’s lightly tanned and toned arms and pulled her in for yet another enthusiastic embrace.

His “lovely Mary”??  Biff’s eyes widened and his fists clenched in an unfamiliar way as he was filled with a new, incomprehensible emotion.  He panicked as he felt his heartbeat increase to a disturbing cadence and the depth of his frown threatened to crease the Revlon Cover-me-Up in Fair Maiden Ivory                              concealer he’d applied to the stubborn behemoth of blemish on his forehead. His lungs filled and refilled with air at a much faster than normal pace and he began to feel rather faint as he stared ineffectually at his lovely Mary in this insolent intruder’s arms.  He felt beads of moisture on his brow, and after thinking about it for a moment he realized it must be sweat – something he’d heard of but never experienced, of course, as sweating was simply not done in his circles. A sense of shame as well as fear began to join the other unknown emotion that caused his rapid breathing and clenched fists as he surreptitiously swiped his sleeve across his stunningly sweaty brow.
 Just when he felt he may explode in some inexplicable but likely meaningful way, Mary drew away from Phillipe once more.  As her mouth opened to speak, a shrill series of yelps echoed from beyond the kitchen.

“Oh! Poor Poopsie!” Mary exclaimed, running toward the back door. “I’m coming, sweetiekins!”

For a swift but seemingly interminable moment, Biff was left staring at Phillipe, begrudgingly admiring the Robert Graham shirt and the beige Cutter & Buck twill pants as well as the hickory shade of his Ferragamo Sabatino driving shoes and the Versace sunglasses that hung haphazardly out of his shirt pocket. As his breathing began to return to normal, he looked up only to find Phillipe’s gaze on his own shoes. 

The mutual assessment was interrupted by a rocketing ball of pink fur and tiny snapping maw, as Poopsie barreled into the room. Having been on the receiving end of Poopsie’s protective nature, Biff’s feet took an insinctive step backward.

Phillipe, meanwhile, stooped down and caught the ricocheting puffball in mid-bark.

“Hey! This can’t be little Poopsie, can it?” he said as he gathered the previously-problematic pup against his chest. “Last time I saw you, you had to be at least two ounces lighter and a lovely shade of lilac.” He turned to Mary. “You simply must tell me who her stylist is. They’ve done a wonderful job and I’ve been looking for a new stylist for my Lhasa, Lawrence.”

“Oh, I bring her to Penny at Paulette’s Pampered Pooch Emporium on the corner of Pearl and Pickwick. They let you pick from plenty of powdery pastels! Lawrence would look lovely in a light shade of lilac, I’m sure!”

Momentarily ignoring the dog stylist discussion, Biff felt his mouth drop open in shock as Poopsie sniffed Phillipe delicately, and then her little pink tongue reached out and licked his hand, tail wagging in apparent friendly recognition. Biff looked down at his bandage-bearing thumb, which still throbbed slightly from Poopsie’s earlier attack, then felt his scowl deepen as he turned toward Mary.

Mary was smiling a blinding, larger than ever, dazzling Crest White Strips smile as she gazed adoringly at…at Phillipe!

“Oh Phillipe, it is SO wonderful to see you again!” she gushed, seeming to forget about Biff entirely.

Biff forced a polite but firm “ahem” from his throat, causing all three to turn their attention his way. Poopsie began growling menacingly.

“Oh good heavens!” Mary exclaimed. “How could I be so rude!”  She took a step toward Biff and grasped his arm. “Phillipe, I’d like you to meet my beau, Biff!”

Phillipe gave Biff another assessing look before he shifted Poopsie in his arms and his free hand reached out in a seemingly friendly way.  He grasped Biff’s hand firmly. “Good to meet you.”

“Same,” Biff said, unable to force himself to friendliness.

“Biff,” Mary addressed him – finally! “This is Phillipe Jean-Paul Boutonniere the Third, of the Boston Boutonnieres, so well-known for their baby bunting and bauble businesses in both Boston and Baltimore, of course. He and I were…er…good friends back home.”

Biff nodded, regaining enough composure to possessively place his hand over Mary’s as it rested on his arm. He smiled a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes and released the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

Phillipe carefully placed Poopsie on the floor and she sauntered off to her pillow in the living area, pausing along the way to glare and growl at Biff.

“Well, now that all that is out of the way,” he announced cheerfully, “we can get to business.  Mary, I would love to take you to dinner this evening…what do you say?”

As Biff’s mouth dropped open once again at the audacity of the interloper, wondering what he should do next as he’d never been in a position to purposely pound upon a person to possessively point out who, in fact, was in charge here, he felt Mary’s hand leave his arm as she walked toward Phillipe once more.

“Oh, Phillipe! That would be…”

Will Mary accept Phillipe’s offer?
Will Biff figure out how to confront Phillipe?
Will any boxes ever get unpacked?
Tune in next time!  J


  1. Haha:

    "Sorry, I was just thinking about my GPS"

  2. Glad you liked it, Sarah! ;)