These characters belong to Mutant Enemy.
Just Another Manic Monday
Xander woke to the smell of cookies, and the feel of heat on his face.
"Honey!" Anya's voice.
He opened his eyes. "Gahhh!" She was beaming, holding a plate all of two inches from his nose. "Good morning, An," he said. He looked at the plate.
"I baked!" she said proudly, waving the plate around. He removed it from her carefully, placing it on the table beside the bed, then he sat up. "Gingerbread men," she told him unnecessarily, picking one up and ramming it into his mouth. She took another from the plate and bit into it with great enjoyment.
Xander took a bite cautiously, then raised his eyebrows in surprise. It was actually pretty good. "This is great, An," he said, spraying crumbs on the mattress. "Oops."
Then he looked at the plate properly. He blinked. "These are anatomically correct."
"Yes," she agreed. She broke off another piece.
He winced. "Do you have to snap that part off quite so enthusiastically?"
That was the easiest part of his day.
He noticed the time, and screeched. "Oh, God, I have to shower – I'm gonna be late for work. . ."
He showered and threw on his clothes. A button came off his shirt. "Aargh."
"Want me to sew it on for you?" Anya offered.
"No, thanks, honey," he said hurriedly, "I'll just grab another from the pile." She had obviously grasped the basics of cooking, but sewing was another matter. He tried to keep her away from sharp objects as much as possible. There had been blood, and much cursing – most of it his – last time she'd sewn.
Xander picked up another shirt. [I should've done laundry yesterday instead of getting distracted with An,] he thought regretfully, then whacked himself on the forehead. [Stupid! That's no way to think about your wonderful girlfriend.]
He kissed her goodbye, and fell out the door, tripping over his shoelaces. He ran downstairs.
Car wouldn't start. The freakin' car wouldn't start. He lifted the hood. No water in the radiator. He refilled it from the bottle he kept in the trunk for just such emergencies, feeling pissed off but unusually grown-up. [I know stuff about cars!] It started unsteadily the next time, then roared into life. He drove off down the street in first, grinding the gears when he changed to third.
He realised he should've changed to second, when the car stalled in the middle of an intersection. "Sorry," he muttered to all the honking and hollering going on outside the car. He started again and drove off, face bright red.
During the course of the day, he stubbed his toe, dropped a hammer off the roof of a house and nearly brained a co-worker, found out Anya had once again kept "Steel Magnolias" for ten weeks longer than the video store had expected, discovered a worm in his Chinese food at lunch, and dropped a screwdriver into the cement mixer.
"Good Lord," he sighed as he drove home. "I feel like the Zeppo again." He reminded himself of all the good things he'd done. How he'd saved the lives of all of his friends at various times. How he had helped them with personal demons, and literal demons. He thought about his job, and how lucky he was to be in a job he liked, where he was respected and earned good money.
Then he bumped his head when he got out of the car. "It's Monday," he noted, when he stopped swearing. "It has to be better tomorrow."
He went into his apartment and kissed Anya before he realized. He groaned. "What a stupid, stupid thing to say."
When he walked down to the car the next morning, a tree fell on him.
