Rating: PG-13.

Summary: Corky and the Juice Pigs are the best part of MAD TV. And the survey regarding what household decisions men and women were responsible for was in Playboy's Raw Data section about two years ago.

Spoilers: MAD TV. On Fox, Saturday nights at 11. I'm old and married and my husband and I have no life, hence, we see MAD TV quite often.
 

ALLY:

October 15, 2000

It's so nice when we get the kids out for the evening, because then we get to be kids again.

We left Dana and Mulder's at the earliest possible time we could without being overly rude, came home, grabbed some Coronas and then basked in a long, slow, delicious session of lovemaking. We hauled butt getting the clothes off, but after that, we took our sweet time, just tantalizing each other until we couldn't keep from going over the precipice.

Then we did it again.

In most ways, being married to Langly is no different than when I was living with him. We still work too many hours, the kids still demand heavily of us, there's laundry all over the place, dishes in the sink, animals screaming to be petted and fed...

But the sex. If possible, it's even better than before. And I never had any complaints related to how it was.

I think we both feel more secure now.

I'm watching Langly, cuddled under the blankets, his head pressed into my shoulder. We're watching MAD TV and right now the skit's not that funny, so he's getting in some comfort time. I've got my arm thrown over him. We're both drowsy, comfortable, dreamy...

At least until Corky and the Juice Pigs come on.

We love Corky and the Juice Pigs. Tonight they're doing Depeche Mode, and Langly and I bust a gut laughing.

"His Neil Young is still the best," Langly concludes when they finish their set.

"I vote for their REM."

"No, they do great Neil Young. Sounds like a cat with its tail getting squashed."

"That's what Neil Young sounds like."

"I know." He's giggling, very drowsily. I'm feeling pretty sleepy myself, and I've seen enough TV, but as always, Langly has the remote. Langly ALWAYS has the remote. We located a survey on the Net that said that in most families, women make nearly all of the decisions. The one decision that men were overwhelmingly responsible for, however, was that of what to
watch on TV.

Langly's been exercising this prerogative long before we ever stumbled onto the survey, but now he feels he's got justification for it.

I'm about to suggest he turn it off when this parody called the 'XXX Files' comes on. We're dying. It's too funny. The lead character reminds us so much of Mulder it's almost spooky. And totally hilarious.

That was the last laugh we had energy for. We fell asleep, wrapped blissfully around each other, not sure where one stopped and the other one started.
 

October 16, 2000

I need to get birthday gifts today. Miranda's is on the 25th, Frohike on the 26th. And next weekend Miranda's having a party here, and I intend to not have one sober molecule in my body while it goes on, so planning anything for the day after would be an exercise in futility.

I ask Michael if he wants to accompany me to get something for his dad. He wants to, he says, but he's bust right now.

I'm a sucker for hard luck cases. I offer to lend Michael some money. He hesitates, but then he accepts. I think he should get something for his dad, and I think he wants to.

If he shops well, I'm not going to hassle him about paying back.
 

MICHAEL:

I have no idea what to get my dad. It's his birthday in about 11 days, according to what Ally tells me.

He doesn't like to celebrate, but I want to give him something.

Besides, he didn't kick me out in the street. In fact, end of this month, we're moving. He found a two-bedroom. The neighborhood's not great, but the place isn't bad. It's got a lot of wood and nice windows, no cheap prefab stuff.

You could actually bring a girl to it.

And I get my own room.

Only catch is, my dad says I need to bring in a little more scratch.

That's gonna be tough. He says I can cut back on my time at TMB some. And I still have to keep my grades up.

He doesn't want much, does he?

But like I said, he didn't throw me out.

That's more than most people have done for me.
 

I don't know what to get him.

He likes antiques. But there's no way I can afford anything like that. Even with what Ally lent me.

He's got a huge video collection, which he likes to add to, but, and this is rich, he doesn't like me to watch them.

Melvin J. Frohike, dirty old man, is a prude when it comes to his kids.

Okay, so I won't do that. He's got enough, anyway.

He likes to read. He reads everything. History, geography, religion, poetry, murder mysteries, he even borrows Ally's Jackie Collins novels when she's done with them. And then I get them. He doesn't bug me about reading Jackie Collins.

He did, however, go ballistic when he found out I was reading 'The Story of O.' For some reason, he didn't think someone my age should be reading it.

How old does he think I am, anyway? I'm gonna be 25 in March, for Christ's sake.

It's like I'm supposed to be an adult and do adult things like work and get good grades and stuff, but I'm supposed to be a good little boy when it comes to things like girls and playing with myself.

Hate to tell you, Dad, but I've been playing with myself for a long time now.

And not by choice.
 

Ally thinks something with mythology in it would be cool. Figures. Ally's got some training in the classics. She likes all that weird stuff about the Greek gods.

I don't know much about it, so I thumb through this copy of Bulfinch's Mythology, a nice edition, on sale too.

God, what a kinky bunch. And nasty too.

I think this would be good.

I pay the cashier at Borders.

Mission accomplished.
 

October 18, 2000

Writing class gets out early today; Casey's sick and can't talk too good. This has to be a real hardship for her. Casey normally never shuts the fuck up.

Maybe that's why Luke is so mellow.

I'm done for the day, at least here.

And I've gotta come up with a way to earn more money.

Dad says I don't need to bring in that much more-he figures about a hundred bucks a week would cover things.

He might as well ask for a million right now.

And the election's in three weeks, and I don't like giving up time at TMB. There's a lot to do, and my dad's running himself into the ground, and I really don't want an instant replay of last winter. Langly and the prof both have day jobs, so my dad does a lot of the work himself. And it makes me sort of worried, because I can't lose him.

I haven't had him long enough.

I never will.
 

There's a job board in the student union building, and I go check it out. Most of the offerings are pretty lame.

The only thing that looks even remotely tolerable is a job at the tutoring center. They're looking for two math tutors. Ten hours a week, flexible, ten bucks an hour.

That's a hundred bucks.

I told you math came easy for me.
 

I think they're desperate, because they want me to start this afternoon, if I can.

Hell, why not. I'm done with class for the day. I've got work to do at TMB, but I can do it later.

I get a burger and a Coke and come back at 1:00.

The job's a snap, mostly. It's mostly math-o-phobes trying to get through basic algebra and trig so they can go to UVA or VPI.

I deal with three of them before 3:00. Piece of cake. And they're happy. They got their homework done.

Maybe they'll even remember what I told them.

At three o'clock, this girl comes in with a sign language interpreter. I would've never known what one was if it hadn't been for Ally and Scully. But I do. So I can do this.

I work with her for a while, and she goes away happy. Nothing like satisfied customers.

Then there's a lull. I wonder if I should bail for the day. I have to work ten hours a week, but it's my ten hours.

I'm packing up my backpack and thinking about trying to make the next bus when she walks in.

She's probably here for some other subject than mine. They tutor in all kinds of subjects here.

"Excuse me, this is the math tutoring area?" She asks me, her blue eyes wide and gorgeous like two country lakes.

"Uh-yeah," I manage to stammer out.

"Are you the tutor for calculus?"

"Uh-yes, yes, I am." Great delivery, Frohike. You're so slick. I feel my face getting hot.

"I'm Kelly Martin."

Oh, God. I almost fall into a dead faint. She's got to be joking.

No. This girl doesn't look like she jokes much. That's one thing I noticed about her. She's real serious in class. Real competitive.

"Anyway, I'm having trouble with some of the calculus concepts, and I have to keep a 4.0 because I'm going to medical school, and if I don't have straight A's I'll never get in." Her speech is rapid, but it's got this real sweet twang to it. Not harsh.

"I'm Michael," I stammer out.

She doesn't even realize I'm in one of her classes from the looks of it.

"Okay, well, I'm having trouble with some of the differential applications. Can we work on that?"

"Uh-sure, whatever." God, I am fucking this up so bad.

My chance to impress her handed to me on a silver platter, and I'm being a total dork.

"What do you want to start with?"

"Related rates," she answers without hesitating.

We go through related rates. She's really pretty sharp, but it takes her a couple tries. Then we go over intervals of increase and decrease, relative extrema, first and second derivative tests, and graphs of polynomials and rational functions.

She's doing pretty good. But then again, she seems like a smart girl.

We're about to start on min and max values of a function, when she stops suddenly.

"Hey, you're in my astronomy class."

Wow. She finally noticed.

"Yeah."

"Good class, don't you think?"

"Uh-yeah. It's my favorite one."

"Mine, too. I'm more interested in chemistry, really, but I like the teacher. He's real good. Are you a math major?"

I cannot believe it.

Kelly Martin is talking to me.

Asking me questions.

Treating me like a real human being.

I try to answer like one.

"Uh-no, I think my major's computer science and journalism."

"A double major. I was thinking about doing a double in biology and chemistry, with an emphasis on biochemical genetics." She is a smart girl. "Anything that gets me to my MD, that's what I'll do."

"Why'd you want to be a doctor?" God, couldn't I think of anything more original than that? Apparently not.

She has this real intense look on her, and it makes her even prettier.

"I'm the first person in my family to go to college. In fact, the first one to graduate from high school. And they're all counting on me to do this. And I want to. I wanted to be a doctor from the time I was little. I'd wait outside while my friends played and I'd have all the bandaids and peroxide in case somebody got hurt." She turns pink. "God, that sounds just so hokey, doesn't it?"

"No." And it doesn't. I think she sounds very cool. Very nice.

"So you see why I have to get all A's."

"Yeah, I do."

"So what's your worst class?"

"My worst class? Freshman writing. Have you taken it yet?"

"No, I'm doing it next semester. Who'd you take it with?"

"Casey Steinert."

"I hear she's real good."

"She's a pain in the ass." We both laugh, but then she gets serious.

"I hear you'll learn to write, though. I want her section next semester."

"You can have my place this semester," I offer. God, I am so lame.

"No, thanks. I've got G-chem with lab, Bio I with lab, calculus and astronomy. It's enough. At least I don't have to work tonight."

"What G-chem section are you in?"

"Monday-Wednesday-Friday 12 to 2, lab on Tuesdays 5 to 9. Why?"

"Is there a redhaired lady named Ally Langly in your class?"

She frowns. "There's an Allison Langly. She's not in lab, though. She just does the lecture part. Why? Do you know her?"

"Yeah. She's the wife of one of my dad's friends."

"I've just said hi to her, but she seems real sweet." Yeah, except when she's not. "What's your last name?"

"Frohike."

"Michael Frohike. I'll tell her I saw you."

"She'll be thrilled." I look down at my calculator; the values haven't been changed in it for at least 15 minutes. "Do you live around here?" God, try being original or something, Frohike.

"I live out in Warrenton."

"Where's that?"

"You're not from around here, are you?"

"No. Jersey."

"I could tell. You have an accent."

"Where's Warrenton?"

"About thirteen miles west of here."

"You live with your family?"

"My mom and my little sister. My mom runs a diner there. What about you?"

"Alexandria. I live with my dad."

"Your parents are divorced, too?"

"Ever since I was six."

"Mine since I was eight. And there's no way I'm going to end up like my mom, scraping along just to get by. I'm going to have a real career and make real money, money I can live on."

"You always live in Warrenton?" My pickup lines are just fantastic, aren't they?

"No. Originally from Beckley, West Virginia. We came out here after my folks got divorced because my uncle helped my mom get the job she's got now." That explained the sweet, pretty twang she had.

We went over min and max, slower than we needed to, because I wanted her just to stick around forever.

"Uh...listen...do you...do you want some coffee?" Oh great. Now she knows what a total dork I am.

"That's really nice of you to offer, but I have to study. Like I said, I need that 4.0. When are you here next?"

"Thursday."

"Then I'll see you on Thursday. Thanks."

"You're welcome," I call, when she's already out the door.

She is so goddamn perfect.

And I'm such a dork.

I just noticed now that I'm sweating like a pig.

Bet that made a great impression on her.

I've got to get her to see me.

Not just here in the tutoring office.

But if that's what I have to take for now, it's better than nothing.

I hope my dad works late, because I really need one of his videos tonight.

END OF PART 6