I awoke to a crashing sound in my bedroom. I turn the light on and standing there in my doorway, I swear to God, is the Queen of England. As the queen enters the room, she moves right for my Paddington Bear cookie jar, maintaining eye contact with me the whole time. Creeps to the max. She snatches the jar and hides it inside her big pink puffer winter jacket.
"Hey, put that back!" I shout at the queen.
She just growls like a dog in response.
What the fuck? I think she has finally gone off her rocker.
"I'm ringing the police," I tell her, but she seems unbothered.
"Hang up that phone now, by order of the Queen."
"No."
"Yes."
The line trills for a dreaded moment before someone answers. "Hello, 999, what's your emergency?"
"Hang up," the queen shout-whispers at me.
I hold the receiver to my chest and shout-whisper back, "Give me my jar, then."
The queen pouts. "No."
I throw up my hands in defeat. "You made me do this."
"Hello?" The 999 operator asks.
"Yes, I'd like to report a crime in progress. The queen is stealing my cookie jar."
There is a long pause before the operator says, "Sir, it's illegal to make a false report."
"I'm not lying. She's got Paddington stuffed in her jacket!"
"Oh, this involves Paddington? Why didn't you say that to begin with. That bear is knighted. Officers are en route."
After I hang up, the queen moves for the door, but I block her. "No, you will see justice!"
She pleads and pleads with me, but I've had enough of her shannys.
First it was being a faux matriarchal figure. Now stealing my Paddington cookie jar. This lady is a monster to all decent people.
When the police arrive, they ask, "What seems to be the problem?"
"She stole Paddington," I tell them.
The queen stands up as straight as a 90 year old coffin dodger can. "I did no such thing."
One copper, who looks like Ed Sheeran, says, "That's not very sporting, is it, queenie?"
The other copper, a woman as severe as barbed wire, adds, "Is this true, your majesty? Do you have his Paddington cookie jar?"
"She's got it hidden in her puffy jacket!" I say, sounding like a petulant toddler, but it's my favorite cookie jar, and I want it back.
"Is he telling the truth, queenie?" Ed Sheeran asks, sounding disappointed.
"Maybe," she says, dragging out the word, "but I only wanted to eat cookies and watch Shark Week, but the royal chef says I'm supposed to be off sugar—and what's the point of Shark Week without snacks, Ed?"
"She's got a point, don't she?" Ed says to his partner. "It's no fun without snacks."
"See?" The queen says, vindicated.
I'm only mildly flabbergasted by this revelation. She's right, you do need snacks, and being off sugar sounds like torture.
"If you wanted cookies, all you had to do was ask," I say sheepishly.
"Really?"
"Yeah, I just want the jar back. The cookies are all yours."
"That's settled, then," Ed says, slapping his cranky partner on the shoulder. "Job well-done and all that."
His partner scowls, but moves for the door. She calls over her shoulder, "Are they chocolate chip, by chance?"
"They are," I tell her. "I've got loads."
And that's how I met your mother...
You are reading the story above: TeenFic.Net