Blondie and her Three Bears

Blondie made her way to the outdoor area of work. She had her water bottle, a sandwich, and her phone. She straddled the barbecue table seating and dug into her sandwich. It wasn’t her sandwich, but she figured, coz it was sitting on the kitchen bench this morning, she would take it. She unlocked her phone and looked at the missed calls and texts from her mother. Maybe about the stolen sandwich.

She answered the call, as it interrupted her perving fest on Tinder. “Yes?”

It was her father. “Did you take the sandwich off the bench this morning?”

“Yes.”

“That was my lunch, you silly little girl,” her father growled. “Also, didn’t realise you liked capsicums.”

“Oh, that’s why it had some spice to it,” Blondie said, trying to sound innocent.

“Hope you choke on it,” her father said, and ended the call.

Well, Blondie thought. I won’t be choking on anything coz the sandwiches are going in the bin, where they belong.

She returned to her phone and continued to tap in Tinder. Swiping here and there until she came across one potential. She wasn’t a man of hairiness, but this one particular chap stood out. He was manly, worked out in the gym, had everything a person could dream of and want. She went through his pictures; almost drooled in the last picture. He had broad shoulders, a chest full of hair, some abs. Like she had said before, she wasn’t excited about hairy men, but this man, Peter, seemed to have something going on. She swiped right. Another man appeared on her screen, still a bear, but at least he knew how to trim. Still had some hot attributes, so she went along with it. His name, Mace. She checked her phone. Nine minutes left off her break. She was hungry still, so even just one tiny mouthful of the capsicum-filled sandwich wouldn’t hurt. She dug into the sandwich and forgot to chew most of it. Most of it came back up within seconds of trying to force it down her throat. Her manager, Mr Wolfe, saw the commotion, ordered her to go home. She was underperforming at work today, so this gave him ammo to send her home.

“But you guys are already down on staff today!” cried Blondie.

“Much rather you are home and getting better,” lied Mr Wolfe.

Blondie shut her trap after that. Didn’t want Mr Wolfe to change his mind, so she pretended to call her parents up to tell them she was coming home. While she waited, she jumped on Tinder. One more profile came through before it had exceeded her Tinder limit. He seemed to be at Blondie’s age, about early twenties, but he didn’t have any facial hair. His name only said Bae. Whatever that was short for. Mr Wolfe had gone back inside and while it was of their clauses that when one is sick, they must have a guardian or someone picking a sick worker up, to verify that the worker had gone home, the place had got busy and Blondie slipped out. Blondie was a troublesome girl. It surprised some people she still had a job, or was even still alive. Blondie didn’t care about life, often turned up to work hungover. She was a pain in the ass for Mr Wolfe.

Blondie slipped out of the gate and strolled down the road, fluttering along like a naïve butterfly. It was Saturday afternoon and knowing that she had cheated her way out of work that afternoon, she could start drinking earlier. Her phone buzzed. She looked down at the flashing notification.

You have a new match.

She couldn’t get into Tinder fast enough. She clicked on her new match and almost died in shock. It was Peter. Had he just been swiping right, not giving a care in the world who he was matching with? Either way, she clicked onto the chat and said hello. There was an automatic reply from Peter, followed by a devil emoji.

Okay, this could get interesting, thought Blondie.

Within minutes, they had exchanged all the social media platforms and were sending each other photos of each other. Peter was in the backyard of his house, as Blondie could make out a park. There were palm trees, and a broken fence, with a walkway that weaved in and out of the palm trees. She knew the park very well. She used to play there when she was a kid.

So, that’s where Peter lives, Blondie thought.

She took the opportunity and went towards the park, hiding behind the bush opposite the back fence of Peter’s backyard. She could make out him laughing at his phone, sipping on something, and getting agitated that Blondie hadn’t replied to his last picture.

“Alright boys,” Peter said. He declared as he stomped onto the deck. “I think tonight we should have a barbie. Bring all the team around. I’ll invite my new friend.”

The others joked. “Friend or fuck?”

Peter ignored the last comment and walked out the front door. The others followed in pursuit. The thought of barbie got Blondie’s tummy rumbling, but being labelled Peter’s new fuck, put her off. She crept out of the bush and tiptoed across the footpath, peering through a gap in the fence. The front door had shut. The back sliding door was wide open. Blondie was hungry. The capsicum-filled sandwich had left a sour taste in her throat. Given them being boys, the house should be full of treats. Blondie spied a bigger hole in the fence and climbed over. Again, she tiptoed across the backyard, not wanting anyone to know she was there, even though she had seen everyone leave through the front door. She walked into the dining room, from the open sliding door, and looked down at the food left on the kitchen table. There was everything; a bowl of something with what looked to be powder on the top, some porridge, and some Fruit Loops. The thought of food made Blondie hungry. She took a stab at the first bowl. It tasted like porridge with sand. The milk had dried up and the powder on top tasted like a strawberry protein shake. She spat it out. The half-chewed porridge landed on the table next to the plate she had just touched. The next was standard porridge that had curdled. She would not fall for another stint like the capsicum-filled sandwich, back at work. She settled for the Fruit Loops, which tasted just like childhood. Her parents refused to buy sugary food like Fruit Loops, as it was bad for her.

All this standing around was making her tired. She looked around the place and noticed the lounge with the different seats. There was a very rough-looking seat, with dumbbells sitting next to it. A medium-sized chair that looked alright, and a plush looking seat with comfy-looking pillows. She tried the hard-looking seat and realised that it matched up to the strawberry protein sandpaper bowl of porridge. She felt like she was sitting on a pile of concrete blocks down at the park. The medium-sized chair wasn’t the comfiest either, and it kept buckling underneath her weight. She moved along to the soft-looking chair and sat down. She felt like she was sitting on a box of feathers. The bowl of Fruit Loops, working, and walking home, led her to feeling tired. The thought of lying down somewhere crossed her mind, just as the two back legs of the chair she was sitting on gave way. With one giant thud, Blondie was on her ass.

“Shit!” she cried. She tried to get up, but each attempt landed her on her ass again. “This just shows that I have been in their house.”

She tried to collect the evidence and hide it behind the couch, but the chair had split into smithereens. She kicked the bigger objects underneath the lounge suite and hoped for the best that no-one would see it. Not just yet, anyway. She tiptoed through the house and came across three bedrooms. One bedroom was a total meathead, had weights, and heavy metal posters hanging from the wall. They did not even make the bed. She crept into the bedroom, slipped under the covers, and pulled them over her head. Bad move. The sheets smelt of sweat blanketed by Lynx. She kicked the blankets off, making more of the mess of the bed, and left the room. The next room, she presumed, was owned by the medium-sized chair and the curdled porridge, had a dainty bed. She climbed onto the bed, tried to get comfortable, but still felt temperamental like the chair, so she hopped off.

She got to the last bedroom. If the Fruit Loops or the soft-looking chair didn’t spell out the third being closeted, the bedroom would have nailed it. The bedroom was soft, had posters of boy bands and nineties pop all over the walls. The bedroom smelt of sweet cologne, and in the background, a Bluetooth speaker was playing Britney. Anyway, Blondie took the opportunity and climbed into the mysterious bed. The sheets felt crispy clean and like Egyptian cotton, similar to a hotel bed. The pillows were soft and puffy. Without thinking, Blondie took out her phone and took a quick snap of her in the random bed, hashtag living-life-to-the-fullest, and sending it to her snap chat story. Blondie was close to falling asleep when she heard the front door burst open and a bunch of rowdy boys.

“Tonight is going to be so cool,” the deep one said. Sounded like the meathead.

“As long as we won’t have to hear a re-enactment of your midnight drumming,” the dainty one said.

The third guy must have stopped in his tracks. The third guy stopped and asked why his Fruit Loops were gone and why there was a spit ball of protein powder and porridge on the table.? Once they realized that someone had touched the food, they also noticed that someone had tampered with the chairs.

“Check the bedrooms,” beckoned the third voice.

“All clear,” the dainty one said.

Blondie had climbed out of the window and scaled across the wall, towards a drain pipe. The three voices were audible as they checked for robbery.. After climbing down the drain pipe, she ran across the yard and went through the hole in the fence. She realized she left her bag with her ID in the lounge.. Maybe one day she might get it back. She checked her phone, realised Peter had seen all her messages. The response she had received identified that she would not be seeing her bag ever again.