Current mood:

cranky

Hakuna Matata, what a wonderful phrase...
Emma held a small paper shopping bag, from which a plush Simba was peeking out. Her other hand supported her back, as it often did nowadays when she was standing, especially when she was wearing high heels, as she was now. "Go on," she said in a voice that was tighter than usual. Two of her students were more concerned with their elaborate African lion masks than they were getting home. "We'll find some great greasy hole of fine American cuisine and stop in the drive-thru."

She was driving a rented van. She would have never let them eat in her car. Two people got to eat in Emma's car, and one of them was Scott.

"Come on. Come on." Her voice was impatient. Tired. A girl with four arms was chattering excitedly with a boy with very thick glasses about the gazelles and the dancing grass. She winced, rubbing the small of her back. Her back had been aching all day, and walking on her trademark high-heels had become nearly impossible. "We can hear the New York Times theatre review later. Yes, Benny, I have no doubt that you have every single syllable of the review memorized."

Moving around the front of the van, she unlocked the driver's side door. Now she had the challenge of climbing into the seat, which, without a waist, wasn't exactly easy.

[Open.]