Mimi gives herself one last spin in the mirror, her bangles clinking in perfect harmony with the jingle of her bracelets. Glitter stickers? Popping. Wristbands? Layered to perfection. She flips her hair, sending a shower of sparkles through the air like a fireworks show.
[Whispering to herself with a grin]
Mimi, you've done it yet again.
Mimi struts to the door with the unearned confidence of someone who has never, not once, been stopped by consequences. Her green hair bounces like it’s on its own main character arc, swaying with the kind of energy that can only be described as “unapologetically Mimi.”
She reaches for the doorknob like she’s accepting an award—
CLUNK!
The doorknob snaps clean off in her hand.
Oh no, not another door…
Mimi stares at the detached knob like it just confessed to murder. Slowly, she turns it over. Maybe it’ll click back into place. Maybe the universe will show mercy just this once. Maybe it’s a prank doorknob.
Spoiler: it is not.
Oh no. Oh no, no, no.
Mimi glances around in panic, eyes darting like a raccoon caught mid-heist. The walls? Judging her. The floor? Complicit. The innocent houseplant nearby? A potential snitch.
[To the plant, accusatory]
Don’t you dare.
Mimi makes a show of inspecting the knob—sniffs it like that might help. Taps it. Licks it. Hopes it’ll evolve. It doesn’t. With an overacted shrug of false confidence, she tosses the knob over her shoulder like it’s someone else’s problem now.
[Clapping her hands together]
Perfect. All fixed!
Mimi jams her fingers into the hollow where the doorknob used to be, yanks the door open and tries to step through with dignity. The door, offended by her entire existence, swings back and smacks her directly in the butt.
[Squeaks]
Eeep! Betrayal!
Took you long enough.
[Flustered]
Oh, uh—yeah! Just, uh, getting ready and stuff.
Inside Mimi’s brain, a catastrophic failure is underway. Neurons? Offline. Sanity? Punted into the sun. Her entire inner world short-circuits the moment she lays eyes on Maku, who is effortlessly just… there. Mimi’s mental infrastructure collapses in on itself.
GOOD MIMI [simultaneously]: YATTA!
BAD MIMI [simultaneously]: YATTA!
GOOD MIMI: Oh. My. GOSH. This is—
BAD MIMI: PERFECTION. Literal gold. Ten out of ten.
GOOD MIMI: Look at her. Just standing there. Being all Maku-like.
BAD MIMI: Beautiful. Effortlessly smug. Unintentionally cool.
GOOD MIMI: I mean, yeah, but should we maybe… you know… say something?
BAD MIMI: About how beautiful she looks? Absolutely.
GOOD MIMI: That’s not what I —never mind. I just feel like —
BAD MIMI: You feel like this is the best thing we’ve ever witnessed, and we should sit back and enjoy the moment. Correct?
Just so you know—
I’m not wasting my time dressing up for whatever dumb thing you’re planning. I’m just going to wear pajamas on this trip.
GOOD MIMI: Pajamas?!
BAD MIMI: Pajamas?!
For that matter, she isn't wearing absolutely anything at all.
That’s when it hits Mimi like a freight train. She pulled the blanket off Maku that morning. Maku must have totally forgotten she is still naked.
GOOD MIMI: Does she mean… actual pajamas or—
BAD MIMI: Does it even matter?
[Furrowing her brow]
What's with the guilty look?
[Too quickly]
What guilty look? This is my normal face!
Maku stares at it. Then at Mimi. Then back at the hole like she’s staring into the soul of a very specific brand of disaster she’s intimately familiar with.
Let’s seeeeee…
Monday, it was “the wind blew the door shut and locked me in.”
Tuesday, “a squirrel syndicate was holding the porch hostage.”
So by process of elimination, I’m betting today’s excuse is—
Ghosts.
Exactly! Ghosts! This house is haunted, and we need to leave immediately!
Maku sighs and follows Mimi along the path to the car. Maku’s steps are brisk and determined, her mind focused on the beach day ahead.
Sunscreen? Check. Towels? Check. Snacks? Maybe not. Oh well, we could grab something on the way.
GOOD MIMI: Her skin is so smooth. Her legs… her thighs… her—
BAD MIMI: Confidence! That’s what we’re appreciating here. Absolute confidence.
GOOD MIMI: Okay, but also her thighs.
BAD MIMI: Sure, her thighs, but the fact that she’s completely relaxed about all this? That’s the real show.
GOOD MIMI: Her chest is bouncing.
BAD MIMI Did you even hear what I just said?!
GOOD MIMI: Yes, but her chest. It’s moving. Every time she shifts, it’s like—
BAD MIMI: You’re so obsessed with the surface-level beauty that you’re missing the real beauty! This isn't just about how she looks—it’s about who she is.GOOD MIMI: No, you’re ignoring the most important—OH MY GOD HER CHEST JUST BOUNCED AGAIN. DID YOU SEE THAT?!
BAD MIMI: You are a simple creature. I respect that, but I also pity you.
GOOD MIMI: I REFUSE TO THINK ABOUT ANYTHING OTHER THAN THE BOUNCE.
BAD MIMI: Tiny-brained, amoeba-level thinking. You have the mental capability of a cucumber.
GOOD MIMI: You know what? I think I liked it better when you weren’t talking.
BAD MIMI: Oh, is it because I’m right and your brain is too tiny to process higher levels of thought?
GOOD MIMI: Higher levels of thought? What are you, a philosopher? We're here to appreciate thighs, not ponder the mysteries of the universe!
BAD MIMI: But don’t you see? It’s not just thighs! It’s the aura, the sheer—
GOOD MIMI: Squeezability.
BAD MIMI: Confidence.
GOOD MIMI: Thighs.
BAD MIMI: Composure.
GOOD MIMI: But have you considered: thighs?
BAD MIMI: You absolute walnut. Her thighs are great, obviously, but what’s even greater is the fact that she’s out here like she owns the world.
GOOD MIMI: Listen, I don’t need to think bigger when I can just enjoy what’s right in front of me! And right now, what’s in front of me is—
BAD MIMI: You can stare at bouncy chests anytime! But this—this is a moment! A rare, golden, once-in-a-lifetime experience—
GOOD MIMI: Boobs.
BAD MIMI: ...What.
GOOD MIMI: Look. Bouncy. Perfect. Just—perfection.
BAD MIMI: I have no words.
GOOD MIMI: And yet you keep talking.
BAD MIMI: You are embarrassing.
GOOD MIMI: Okay, philosopher, tell me this: If confidence is so great, can you squeeze it?! HUH?! CAN YOU?!
BAD MIMI: ...Well—no, but—
GOOD MIMI: EXACTLY. Your whole argument is invalid!
BAD MIMI: Wait, NO, hold on—
Y’know… I’m actually really glad you asked me to go to the beach today.
The weather’s perfect. Not too hot. Just warm enough that the ocean’s gonna feel amazing.
And the snacks. Ohhh man, the snacks. Beach food just hits different. Chips, ice cream, maybe a whole-ass watermelon if we wanna be ambitious?
Mimi blinks rapidly, trying to keep up with the conversation while the rest of her brain is actively malfunctioning.
GOOD MIMI: Did she just say "whole-ass" watermelon?
BAD MIMI: SHE COULD’VE STOPPED AT "WHOLE-ASS" AND I WOULD’VE DIED HAPPY.
[Shrugs.]
I get restless sometimes, but I don’t really think about it until I step outside. It’s nice to move around, you know?
They finally arrive at the car. Maku sinks into the driver’s seat with an audible sigh, letting the summer heat settle around her like a lazy blanket. She leans back, draping herself with the kind of casual grace that only she could pull off.
Meanwhile, outside the car, Mimi clutches her bag like it’s both a shield and her final will and testament. Her face is doing five emotions at once—none of them sane.
And then—
The gig is up, Mimz. The curtain's down, the lights are up, and the audience saw. Bravo. But the encore? Denied.
Maku extends a hand toward her, palm up, fingers lightly curling in that way that is so Maku—casual but firm, like she’s already won whatever battle is about to unfold.
[Too quickly] Wh—what? Who? I mean—me?
Maku’s gaze flicks to Mimi. There’s amusement there, but also…something else. Something knowing.
Swimsuit.
How do you— I mean, what makes you think— That is to say—
Mimi grips the bag tighter.
Taxes?
Right. And, naturally, in these trying times, the IRS specifically demands my swimsuit as a financial contribution.
[Pointing wildly, grasping at straws and dignity]
See?! You get it! You’re so smart. That’s what I’ve been saying. It’s all for you. It’s protection. I’m protecting your—your assets. Financial and physical.
[Calmly] Mimi, did you think I didn’t know?
[High-pitched] Know what?
[Tilting her head, feigning deep thought]
Oh, I don’t know. That I walked out of the house wearing a whole lot of nothing? That you let it happen? That I spent the last 5 minutes being the half-naked main event in a show I didn’t even know I was starring in?
[Muttering] Not half naked.
[Even quieter] Not wearing half of anything…
Maku leans back and exhales through her nose, slow and patient. Like she’s humoring Mimi. Which is worse than calling her out directly.
[Mock sympathy]
Must be hard. Carrying the weight of such civic responsibility.
And then—before Mimi can twitch, blink, breathe—
WHIP!
Maku’s hand dives into Mimi’s bag with surgical precision.
[Panicking, clutching at the bag, but too slow—far, far too slow]
WAITWAITWAITWAITWAIT—MAKU NO—
Maku, unbothered, unrushed, pulls out the neatly folded swimsuit. She flicks her gaze up to Mimi, expression unreadable.
[With just a hint of smug]
Huh. Would you look at that— a swimsuit.
GAAAAAASP…That was entrapment!
So, tell me. At what point were you planning to clue me in?
Mimi huffs, flailing her arms.
I—it wasn’t—okay, look, I was going to tell you—
Got distracted?
Wait—wait—! How could any of this be MY fault? You’re telling me you just walked around like that and didn’t notice?!
Maku shrugs, utterly unbothered.
I just thought it was breezy.
[Disbelief]
Breezy?!
[Stretching lazily]
Mmhm. A little more ventilation than usual, sure, but I figured—y’know—the universe just wants me to feel ✨free✨ today.
She closes her eyes. Reclines. She is now meditating on the concept of freedom, and it’s personal.
I didn’t realize until I saw myself in the car window. Thought, "Huh. That explains why everything felt so... efficient."
[Gasping for sanity]
What does that even mean?!
[Thoughtful, completely at ease]
You ever have one of those days where you just feel really... unburdened? Like, everything’s moving smoother than usual? Like life just shaved off all unnecessary distractions?
[Faintly]
The unnecessary distraction... being... clothes?
[Nods with the gravity of someone quoting ancient wisdom]
Exactly. No friction. No excess weight. No soulless barriers between me and the universe.
[Whispering to herself, broken]
She thinks PANTS are "excess weight."
But by the time I realized, it was too late, and panicking would’ve made it weird.
Maku’s gaze flickers toward Mimi’s bag.
I also noticed the straps of the bikini sticking out of your bag. Figured you had me covered.
Mimi glares at the confiscated swimsuit in Maku’s hands like it personally insulted her.
[Scrambling, words tumbling out like a landslide of desperation]
Okay, fine! You caught me! I packed it, okay? But hear me out—this wasn’t about deceit. It was about... surprise and delight!
Surprise and delight? Pretty sure that’s the slogan for ice cream trucks, not my wardrobe.
Mimi, ever the opportunist, pounces.
It’s fashion, Maku! Thigh squish is in right now. The internet loves thighs! They’re the pillows of the soul!
Maku’s eyes narrow.
The pillows of the—? Mimi, are you secretly trying to monetize me?
Mimi gasps.
[Shocked]
I would NEVER.
[Pause]
Are there t-shirts?
[Mouth already forming a “yes”]
…I am deeply offended that you’d even ask.
[Muttering]
I only get 50 percent, but that’s irrelevant…
Mimi waves her hands frantically.
Anyway, I haven’t revealed the best part!
The best part?
Mimi, determined to save face, dives into her bag with theatrical flair. She rummages, muttering to herself.
Behold!
Mimi reaches into her bag and whips out her secret weapons.
A very cute, beachy T-shirt.
A very stylish, absolutely perfect straw hat.
Your favorite combo—comfy, flowy, and stylish! I even made sure the hat has a chin strap so it doesn’t fly off dramatically when you inevitably pull some nonsense.
For the first time since this conversation started—since this entire ridiculous sequence of events started—Maku actually reacts.
It’s small. Barely noticeable. But Mimi catches it.
The way Maku’s eyes widen just the tiniest fraction. The way her fingers twitch, just slightly.
Maku loves it.
Mimi grins, triumphant.
[Muttering, but there's an undeniable fondness in her voice]
…Okay, that’s actually kind of cute.
[Nodding sagely]
I know my audience.
Maku slips on the swimsuit she liberated from Mimi’s bag earlier with the confidence of someone who steals emotional intimacy and then ghosts you for six to eight business days. It pulls tight around her like a secret with teeth—soft enough to seduce, snug enough to ruin someone emotionally, and low-key giving “I didn’t plan this, but your heartbeat just skipped anyway.”
It hugs her like it wants to be the main character.
It flatters her like it has a crush.
The kind of flattering that makes people rethink friendships, life plans, and sexuality in that order.
And then—God help us all—comes the t-shirt.
It falls over her shoulders like betrayal wearing moisturizer. The fabric is soft enough to be court-admissible as evidence of premeditated emotional damage.
And then—the hat.
Wide-brimmed. Dramatic.
A hat with the energy of an ex who shows up in your dreams just to ruin your day. She tilts it lower with two fingers and a pout so soft it could bankrupt someone spiritually.
She peers out from beneath the brim like she’s looking for someone to emotionally dismantle—and unfortunately, it’s you.
She doesn’t even look in the mirror.
She doesn’t need to.
You’re already looking.
And you’re already spiraling.
[Genuinely impressed]
You really outdid yourself...
[Smugly, bouncing on her heels]
See?! I was right to keep it a surprise!
[Scoffing]
Let’s not go that far.
Maku looks at Mimi from under the brim, her expression softer now, the barest hint of a smile playing at her lips.
[Teasing]
And Ta-da! The final piece to the outfit! Your amazing blush!
[Quickly pulling the hat down over her face]
What? No! I’m not blushing! It’s the hat! It’s reflective or something...
Mimi flops into the passenger seat like an exhausted diva and sighs dramatically as she melts into the cushions.
Makky, if you wanna be a professional excuse-maker like me, you’re gonna have to step up your game.
[Quickly pulling the hat down over her face]
Oh, please. You think “ghost possession” and “taxes” are top-tier excuses? Those were awful.
[Offended]
Awful?
Makky, you don’t see the genius! Ghost possession explains everything. You can’t argue with ghosts—they’re intangible! And taxes? That’s the ultimate authority. Nobody questions taxes! But the squirrel army excuse? Yeah, that one was peak.
[Incredulously]
How was that peak?!
[Counting on her fingers]
One, it’s plausible. Squirrels are everywhere. Two, it’s unpredictable — no one’s prepared for a full-scale rodent coup. And three — and this is the kicker — if anyone questions it, you just say, “Well, have you checked the porch?” That puts the burden of proof on them.
…That’s insane.
Exactly. Which is why it works
Fine… but reflective hats could still work…it’s a perfectly logical explanation!
You’re missing the forest for the trees, Makky.
[Nodding sagely]
Excuses aren’t about being logical; they’re about distracting people and derailing the conversation to avoid responsibility.
Maku freezes, her hand still gripping the brim of her hat. Mimi’s words linger in the air like a slap to the face — cold, sudden, and uncomfortably accurate.
Derailing the conversation… to avoid responsibility.
It was brilliant.
It was terrible.
It was Mimi.
And worst of all… it makes way too much sense.
