"Hey I'm in Dr. Bliss's office," Helga says as she looks around, realizing that she's on the couch. She sees Dr. Bliss's chair and goes to it, hoping to find out what's going on. Why would she be in this office at night and on the weekend? The chair swivels around and the poor nine-year-old is shocked at who she finds.

"Who are you!" She asks, scared.

"You-at age 30." Helga eyes the woman over, trying to see if she is who she says she is. Her hair is like hers, only let down. Her dress IS pink, but it's missing the classic hot stripe at the bottom and has a more curvy shape to it.

"Ok Bucko, you can pull off what I could look like as an adult, but how do I know you're really me?" Older Helga sighs, not at all surprised that she'd have to prove herself.

"You have a shrine of Arnold Shortman in your closet made out of gum and found objects, you refer to him as 'ice-cream' when talking to Phoebe, and when you were once stuck in his room you had a...um..." She blushes, "vary satisfying view of someone's something."

Young Helga smiles when she remembers it, thinking of how long and perfect it was, how she wanted to just reach out her hand and touch it.

"Yea.." she sighs," -I mean, so! Why are you here now!"

"Beats me, it's your dream." Adult Helga gets out of the chair and looks at the bright moon shining through the huge windows. The stars poke through the darkness that surrounds the huge celestial being.

"Wow," she sighs sadly, "It has been a long while since I've been inside this office." Young Helga notices that the more she gazes outside, the quieter her older self gets. She wants to know why, but is afraid to ask, sensing that she'd hate the answer.

"Why you'd stop going to Dr. Bliss?" She stands next to her older counterpart as she waits for her response, trying to see what she sees in the night lights.

"The Blowhard wouldn't pay for it. The school only helped out when I was in the system, and as soon as college hit I was asked pay myself. Bliss tried to lower the price but...it was either college or her."

"Oh..."

"Yea..."

"Alright!" Young Helga starts fiercely, hands at her hips, "What's is WITH the sad tude? I mean, CRIMINY! We're Patakis! Why do you think we even WENT to Bliss all those years? To talk about movies?"

"Correction, you're a Pataki, I'm a Shortman." Young Helga's eyes widen to the size of dinners plates when she spots it, the diamond ring glistening on her left hand. She takes a closer look when Adult Helga moves her hand to her. She touches it, ready to faint at the realization that he ring is a real, tangible, object.

"Wow..." she gasps.

"Yep."

"So...if we end up with Arnold, why so sad? That's what we always wanted, right"

"Yes, but..." Adult Helga looks a the floor now, nervously moving her feet about as she gathers enough breath to say what she needs to say, to say what she wished she said to herself a long time ago, "When we do get him, we see that we can loose him just as easily." A small tear streaks and sparkles down her face, then drops down to the floor like a shooting star glowing brightly.
"But I don't get it, you're married to him aren't you?"

"Yes, but it's complicated."

"HOW!"

"Because you become your mother!" She blurts out angerily, "You don't see it now Young Helga, but you focus so much on how you DON'T want to become the blowhard that you slowly become Merriam. You may not call it a smoothie, but it is just as real, and just as hurtful. And through it all, the hair-boy you loved since Kindergarten sticks with you, tries to help you, and does anything he can to make you happy. But the truth is kiddo, that's an inside job. And..." she pauses, smiling some, "I think I know just how start that." she dabs her eyes dry and bends over, arms out.

"What the hell do you think you're you doing!" Young Helga asks, confused.

"Something that should have been done years ago." She takes her smaller self and embraces her tightly, letting her soft touch and new-found motherly compassion envelope them, caress them, and bond them in a way that neither saw coming. Young Helga resists at first, fidgeting out of her arms, but then she gives in, suddenly finding comfort in the hug.

"No matter what Bob and Merriam say," Adult Helga whispers between tears, "You ARE deserving of love Helga Geraldine Pataki. And you ARE worthy of Arnold, just as HE is worthy of you." She lingers, hoping to impress upon the little girl, her little self, how much love she wants her to feel, how worthy of life she really is. And then, when the hug should have ended Young Helga squeezes back, crying softy into her older self's midsection.

"Does Arnold really love me?" she asks quietly as stands, her wondering eyes looking up.

"Yes," Mrs. Shortman beams, "More then you can ever know."