The Forgotten Simpson
Homer promised over and over again to Marge, "This weekend we'll do something honey, we'll drop the kids off at your sisters, then we'll see where the night takes us."By Friday night Marge was getting excited. She'd had the kids pack their own bags and even their strained protests at having to stay with their crabby old aunties sounded like music to her ears. Patty and Selma picked them up not 10 minutes after they'd finished school - tough luck for them.
But for Marge is was a chance to pamper herself. After half an hour in the bath her hair had drooped from its usual erect position on top of her head. With a contented sigh she submerged beneath the level of the water re-emerging a couple of seconds later with it around her shoulders. Half an hour was long enough to soak in the bath, she thought to herself, even if she could lie here all night. With that, she worked shampoo into her masses of blue hair with her tapered fingers causing bubbles to froth from inside the dense thicket. After washing out all of the soap, she reluctantly let the relaxing water go, hopefully taking with it all her stresses.
"What have I got to be stressed about?"she asked her reflection in the mirror, "the dishes not being clean?"She sarcastically lambasted herself as if she felt guilty for her continued position as a lowly housewife. There must be some medium, she wondered, between the emptiness of this domestic void and the hi-flying academic, professional life that Lisa so often fantasised about?
"Ah, what they hey"she dismissed choosing to think only of the weekend ahead. She turned on the hairdryer and began to dry her long, curly azure locks as she inspected her similarly blue tuft of pubic hair which she always kept trimmed in a heart shape. Not that Homer ever noticed and she wondered again why she made the effort. Over the past couple of weeks she'd let it get a bit overgrown down there, so after drying her hair she took to carefully pruning the blue heart just above her nether regions. She didn't like using a blue hair dye so close to her sensitive parts but it just looked too good. Maybe Homer would notice tonight?
With her hair wrapped in a tall pink towel, she entered her bedroom naked. The cool autumn breeze from the open window caressed her body causing her nipples to harden and her skin to pimple. "What to wear?"Truth was, she'd been wondering about what to wear for the past week since Homer finally promised to take her out. It had been so long since she'd been out at the weekend and even longer since she'd gone shopping for a dress. Her wardrobe didn't make the best viewing.
"Pink Chanel suit, can't wear that..."Eventually, she decided on the only thing in her wardrobe that looked presentable: a silky, low back dress which reached down to just above her knees. It looked stylish but discreet, which would be perfect since Homer hadn't elaborated on where they were going yet.
Her bum wiggled in the air from her closet as she she dug out a pair of black court shoes with a 4 inch heel which had collected a layer of dust since they'd been neglected so long. After laying the dress on the bed and placing the shoes next to them, she decided that they did go together as she imagined. Now for the underwear... And an idea instantly presented itself. She reached for her bottom drawer removing it completely from its shelf. The drawer contained many of Marge's dainties but none, she knew, were like the box that lay beneath the drawer. She picked out a small golden, triangular box, and opened it. What had made her buy this? She recalled the moment she handed the box over the counter to the saleswoman, her face flushed and red. It was the first time Marge Simpson had ever invested in a thong. She picked out the stringy piece of underwear: it was hot pink with a sheer nylon panel in the front, and so skimpy.
For the first time in her life Marge slipped on a thong, pulling it up her legs and allowing the back string to find its home between the two golden globes of her fleshy bum. Impatiently, she inspected it in the mirror and the sight that greeted her made her feel naughty.
"It really shows off my buttocks!"she giggled.
From another drawer she pulled out her nail polish kit and began spreading her toes with the separator before applying a hot pink polish that was similar in colour to her new underwear. While her toenails dried, she spent more time on her hair and ever so slowly the mountain started to grow like a totem pole: instantly recognisable, instantly Marge Simpson. After that was done she painted her fingernails, had a coffee and patiently waited some more.
She decided to wear the dress without a bra rather than risk choosing a bra that might clash with her new thong. Now for her legs... Pantyhose or stockings? Her devilish side shouted for the stockings but her more cautious side warned her of the transparent panel in the front of her thong.
"HHmmmmmm"she pondered aloud.
The pantyhose won out, but she didn't leave her devilish side empty handed. The nude, 5 denier pantyhose were from Victoria's Secret and were almost entirely seamless. She bunched up one of the feet before placing one of her fine, shaven stems into the delicate sheer fabric. It instantly stretched around her pale skin, tanning it while seeming invisible to all but the closest observer. Gently and sensually she rolled the leg up over her knee before switching to the other leg and doing the same. Before long, her shapely apple bottom was clad tight in nylon. And sure enough, through the two layers of nylon was her blue tuft of heart shaped pubic hair and just a hint of her sex. Perfect.
"If Homer doesn't tear all this off me I'm going to divorce him!"she threatened herself lustily in the mirror.
Finally, she took care of her make-up and finished off her hair which stood imperious and tall, yet feminine and silken. 20 minutes later and Marge could smell her own perfume as she carefully descended the stairs.
She found herself staring at the clock: 5:50. Homer should have been home by now and she was getting hungry. Which made her worried, because if she was hungry then her husband certainly was. She undid her shoes, placing them by the front door and carefully sat in front of the television to wait.
Her manicured finger stabbed at the remote control flicking through the channels as she uncrossed her legs and recrossed them the other way, still feeling the sexiness of everything she had on. "Where is he?"Half an our passed and still no sign of Homer. Out of desperation she sat through an episode of Family Guy before picking up her cell phone and ringing Homer. His phone was definitely on, but there was no answer.
"Hmmph!"she hung up angrily and redialled. No answer, just his unfunny answering machine message which proved too long to endure through to the beep.
For the next hour she flicked through television channels and called Homer's phone, feeling more and more like a forgotten wilting flower. Again and again the phone rang but there was no answer. At 9pm and still fully dressed Marge made herself something to eat. She sat back down in front of the TV with a sandwich and watched some of the music channels. When she was younger she used to love music, but since marriage she'd really forgotten it existed. Still, the pop sounded familiar and the rock sounded strained, but it all seemed so very deeply hollow and safe. She tried Homer's phone another 3 or 4 times only for it to go to the answering service each time.
It was now 10pm and it was seeming more and more like she'd been stood up in her own home with nobody to even notice. It was the story of her life and that thought made her feel miserable and unwanted. Listlessly, she flicked through onto the next channel. After the adverts finished two women appeared talking into the camera, "Rumour has it, that if you go low enough Ludacris will appear in the mirror!"
After a second Marge realised that it was a hip hop channel. She'd obviously heard of the genre, but had never really paid it any real attention before. Out of boredom she watched as the women started strutting and dancing in a bedroom in front of a mirror, presumably trying to get the rapper to appear. It all seemed so tacky and cheap, but as the beat kicked in Marge found it oddly rhythmical and soon began to subconsciously tap along with her foot. The song clattered and clunked dramatically as the voluptuous ladies shook their hips and gyrated reaching the ground as the song so often suggested.
"Well, their men must certainly make them feel sexy to get them to dress and dance like that!"The comment sounded a lot more envious than she'd intended. The song seemed to intoxicate the dancing women of varying ethnicities who all boogied to the music as if they couldn't stop. Marge tapped her foot even more, "If only I had the confidence to dance like that... or the opportunity!"she muttered. "Maybe I've missed out?"
The song ended to a groan of approval from Marge, "Mmmm, well, at least it was different... and had some energy... and a nice beat!"
After a few more songs she was starting to feel less depressed and after another hour she was beginning to forget about Homer's no show. She turned the TV up, "I loooove that beat!"she giggled to herself as Flo Rida's 'Low'played, "maybe I've found my genre? If I had some wine I'd get up and dance myself."
Her eyes widened, and with that she jumped up and quickly pulled on her high heels and drove off to the Kwik-E-Mart.
"Oh, Mrs Simpson, you are looking divine tonight!"Apu declared appreciatively as Marge handed over the bottle of wine to be scanned.
"Yeah well, you're the only one to notice, so I guess if nobody cares I can just please myself!"
Upon returning home Marge got undressed and settled into her dressing gown before heading back down stairs. As she sipped the wine her anger dissipated. Was it really such a surprise that Homer was out doing God-knows-what? No, it was entirely within character. Maybe she should be angry with herself for trusting him?
"Well, from now on I'll just please myself,"she reasoned, turning the volume up some more until she could feel the bass vibrating. Every song that came on seemed to make her want to dance: she nodded her head, tapped her feet and hands, moved her shoulders. What was it that made her body move? As time progressed on she noticed the videos seemed to objectify women more and more who were wearing less and less. But strangely, it seemed to make sense that all these young women were dancing around in their thongs: it was the beat, rhythm, they couldn't help it.
"Maybe I'm having a midlife crisis?"she asked herself.
It was now around 2am and Marge had emptied three quarters of the bottle of wine. Since it had taken her so long to drink the effects weren't all that pronounced: she felt happily tipsy, but in control. The same however could not be said of her husband, who announced his arrival with a loud bang outside the house. Instinctively, Marge flicked off the TV, plunging the living room into darkness. There was another bang behind the front door, then the sound of jangling keys, then a slurred "d'oh,"then more jangling keys. The front door then swung open and Homer landed flat on his face in the hall. Marge remained as quiet as a mouse as her husband struggled to his feet and tried to tiptoe upstairs oblivious that the door was wide open behind him. Within a matter of seconds his deafening snoring rang throughout the house.
Marge's first instinct was to wake Homer up and shout at him but then another thought stopped her, "Please yourself - he does!"She got up and closed the front door, returned to the living room and flicked on the TV. The defiant thud of hip hop filled the room and the suburban mother's senses making her feel rebellious. The TV seemed so loud she had to go out into the hall to check if Homer was still asleep. Sure enough, his deep snoring was still there. Defiantly Marge turned up the TV again and poured out the rest of the wine as 'Hot In Herre'by Nelly pumped aggressively. It was almost as if it was somehow forbidden for a white woman and mother who was nearly 40 to be listening to such music at such a time, especially considering the circumstances. And it really didn't help that the music sounded so sexually charged.
"Get up, up, up on the dancefloor!"she sang along, shifting in her seat before giggling once more. "Oh what the hell!"she stood up, threw her dressing gown off and tried to shake her ass like the women in all the videos she'd seen. For the entire time she'd sat watching she'd been wondering if she could pull it off. Her bare boobs jiggled around and her ass gyrated. Of course, it wasn't as natural or fluid as the women on TV but through her tipsiness Marge didn't think she was doing too badly.
"I can certainly see why this is so popular!"The next song on was Money Maker, which had a beat that the mother of 3 simply couldn't ignore. The more Marge danced, the more she got used to it until she was moving her ass perfectly in time. She only danced to a couple of songs, but it made the so frequently bored housewife feel liberated. Finally, at 4am she went to bed next to her snoring husband.
The next morning things seemed to continue as normal. Homer tried to pretend he wasn't hungover, but Marge fought the urge to set him straight. Instead, she felt mildly embarrassed at the thought of her actions the previous night, but as ever, nobody even knew. Her husband didn't even notice the kids weren't home. After another boring Saturday night, Marge picked them up on Sunday afternoon and life carried on. It was as if Homer had completely forgotten about the promises he'd made to his wife the previous week, but Marge was sick of reminding him to care.