Not Just Another Blonde Joke

a Wicked oneshot

A blonde walks into a bar.

How many times have I heard that one? The jokes always begin with her entering the building - or running into it - but they never say how she got there. I suppose it doesn't really matter in those cases. In mine, I feel I should share just a bit of it.

It is purely a coincidence I ended up here. About a week ago, I was walking through the campus of the school I plan to attend in the coming year. It stands tall and strong through any and all comparisons. Shiz University, school of the elite and brilliant. Shiz holds rank among the other high-level schools for being the best. The students who attend are always the daughters and sons of someone, the soon to be Misses So-and-Sos and Colonel General Captain Who-Dad. The very air surrounding the site felt powerful. It was so powerful that I wound up stepping into a pile of garbage that sat beside the walkway. When I went to discard the rummage, the loose sheet grabbing onto my heel for dear life started screaming at me. I caught word and couldn't contain my mind's wanderings. It seemed there were others who thought the way I did, and those others had an event coming up. I stowed the page inside my purse and made a silent promise to come back later.

The fact that I stand before the doors of Ozbucks is a sign that I keep my promises. Truthfully, I'm beginning to wish that I could be a little less honorable. I watch the people milling around inside from my spot. I know all of them are waiting for the clock to strike ten-fifteen. I pull at the sleeves of my jacket for the thirty-second time. What if this doesn't help me? What if after this moment of unspeakable weakness I am still, as my mother says, "confused"?

"The door won't open itself," grumbles a Dog who stands behind me.

"I apologize," I say before stepping through the entrance. Unlike the air at Shiz, this one has a hint of hope, a dash of laughter, and a shot of espresso once I place my order.

Cup in hand, I search for a place to sit. Tables are packed with couples and friends, mingling and enjoying their day. It takes a moment until I spot the table in the corner. It's pushed back further than most of the rest and is partially hidden from most of the shop. It should fit my purposes well. I approach the table, determined not to let the lady already seated there discourage me. Her faded gloves, tight scarf, and pencil skirt are a visible reminder of the fact that she and I are most definitely different. However, that is the point of today, find someone different than me and possibly find myself in the process.

I reach for the chair only to hear her voice.

"You might not want to do that," she says over her book.

"Is the chair broken?" I ask.

"If you sit there, people might think you are with me," she informs.

"Do you have a problem with that assumption? I don't believe you have even taken the time to look at me, and I know you haven't spoken to me other than your last statement. I have to ask why you would think it's such a bad thing based on nothing."

"I urge you not to take it personally. It has nothing to do with you. I'm not exactly the type of girl you would want to be seen with," she says.

"I agree that your fashion sense is not exactly amazing, but that doesn't mean I shouldn't sit at your table."

"My wardrobe should be the least of your concerns," she mutters.

"Then what should I be concerned about?"

"The way the people of our country treat Animals for one," she states.

I think back to the grouchy Dog and have to wonder about the opposite.

"Why don't you put the book down?" I suggest, "If I'm getting insulted and taking advice from a stranger, I could at least see her face."

"Now, you're just causing more problems," she says.

"You're the one causing problems. Drop your book and say those hideodeous things to my face," I challenge.

"Hideodeous is not a word," she says. Nevertheless, she does pull down her cover. Her dark tresses are the first things I see, but they're pushed from my mind when I catch on to what she was trying to say. It does have nothing to do with me. What does it have to do with? I think. How could this be possible? Instead of the natural slightly pink-tinted face I adorn, this woman across from me sports a skin so green she could be a Turtle. Simply by looking at her face, I can tell that she is certainly human. How frightful. How… different.

"Y-you're green," I whisper.

"I am," she affirms.

"Are you all green? Like everything?" I check.

"Yes, all of my skin. Ready to go run around screaming it off buildings?" she snaps.

"And share you with the rest of these greedy animals, no thank you," I say. A resulting growl comes from the Dog that entered after me. He and his partner stand up sharply and brush away from their table, bumping into ours in the process. My coffee spills onto her and she gives a growl of her own then. She yanks her gloves off her hands, revealing thin, emerald digits.

Her hands look so soft, so smooth and perfect, even with the coloration. Before I can control myself, I have her hand in my own. I feel the outline of her knuckles and the nails of her fingertips. Then I trace the patterns on her palm, and just revel in how surreal this experience is. I look up from the hands and crash into her startled gaze. Her eyes are frightened as if she is expecting me to force her into the table. Given the time, I probably would. Mumsy could only wish bodily harm were my intent.

"You're beautiful," I breathe. Her face gets just a bit darker, an even more enticing shade of jade than before.

"You shouldn't say that," she warns, pulling back her hand.

"I am saying it though. It's true. You've got such an amazing face. Your eyes are exquisite. Don't cover your face because your bold shading only enhances your alluring facial features. Oz, I should stop. I fear I would seem unbecoming if I continue."

"Continue? What more could there be to say?"

"Plenty. I must confess I was not just touching your hands to see if the green was a trick of the light. They're comely. Why I'm convinced you could work magic with those fingers," I compliment. She stiffens.

"Let's hope not," she says, shaking her head once more. I open my mouth to speak, but a bell ringing cuts me off. I glance around and know that it's time. All around the shop, people lean into each other, pecking, kissing, and touching; celebrating the day. I turn back to this mysterious, doleful, and kind of cynical green girl with a slight gulp.

"I suppose we're supposed to kiss now," I comment in fake nonchalance.

She's quick to say "It's fine if you don't want to."

I stare, pondering, "Why wouldn't I want to? Like I said, you're beautiful."

Before she can retract again, I kiss her. It's not just a little peck like some of the others. Oh no, this is one of those 'brace-yourself' types. Somehow we wind up pushed against the table, her eyes and mine locked. She gazes at the edge pressed into her side, surprised and that extra special green again. I laugh.

You'd think she would have seen it coming.

Thank you for reading. Reviews are appreciated even if they're simply saying "hi."

And for those who are wondering/don't get it, the joke would be the first and last line of the story. There's a blonde joke that's: "A blonde walks into a bar; you'd think she would have seen it coming." The humor in it being that she didn't enter the bar, she walked into it instead.

The event mentioned is Same Sex Kiss Day. It's an actual event, though I've never participated. A friend of mine mentioned it one day and it got me thinking about kind of how Gelphie could fit into that. It happens in April I believe....