Note #1: This is an answer to a challenge posted on the Josh/Donna list a little while ago. The challenge was Josh versus Donna's mother and the line, "So you're the reason my daughter never comes home," had to be included somewhere.

Note #2: The opinions about Wisconsin expressed in this fic are not mine. They are simply how I think Josh would feel about the state. No offense meant to any Wisconsin residents or natives. Seriously, I have no opinions whatsover, negative or otherwise, about the state.

    I'm in Wisconsin.

    Wisconsin.

    AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

    HHHHEEEELLLLPPPP!

    Seriously, I've been here a total of ten minutes and I'm already bored 
out of my mind.

    Damn, what the hell was I thinking when I agreed to be Donna's date for 
her cousin's wedding this weekend?!

    No wonder Donna knows so many trivial facts.  She must have had A LOT of 
time on her hands to read as a child.

    Of course, Donna felt the need to share such trivial facts about 
Wisconsin with me on our flight here.

    Apparently, putting headphones on and staring out the window makes a 
certain someone think you are interested in engaging in a lengthy 
conversation about Wisconsin with her.

    So, I listened...And listened...And listened.    

    More than once, I toyed with the idea of flinging myself out of the 
window.  I finally had to decide against it when I realized my head wouldn't 
even fit through the damn thing.  

    Of course, it took me an hour to come to this realization, so that tells 
you just how desperate I was to escape.

    Well, let me tell you what I learned during my Wisconsin history lesson.

    First, as we are all aware, Wisconsin is known as 'America's Dairyland.'  
One of the reasons for this is their history of being among the leaders in 
most milk products since shortly after the first cheese factory was opened in 
the state in 1864.

    Most milk products.  Wow.  Impressive.

    She floored me with that stat.  I don't mind admitting I had to take a 
few moments to recover.

    Let's see...What else?

    Ah, yes.  Their motto.

    Wisconsin's motto is this:  Forward.

    No, I didn't leave any words out.  You read it right.  

    I mean, that's just plain sad.  It's like they couldn't think of anything 
better so they opened up a dictionary and picked the first word their eyes 
landed on.

    Forward?  What the hells does that even mean?  

    Yes, I know it is supposed to mean that they are an advancing society 
that is constantly moving forward.

    But they couldn't have stated that in a few more words? 

    Man, Sam and Toby would cry at the injustice of it.

    I just keep picturing the meeting to discuss the motto.  It must have 
gone something like this:

    'Well, what have you all come up with?  Let's start with you, Bert.'

    'Move forward, for no one ever reached the stars standing still.' 

    'Okay.  Fred?'

    'Forward.'  

    'Wow!' Motto chairman exclaims!  'How the hell did you come up with that?'

    Fred simply shrugs and smiles, 'It just came to me.'

    'Well, it's brilliant.  That's it...That's the one', Motto chairman says 
with a wide smile and twinkle of a tear in his eye.  

    ~End of probable scenario~.

    Okay, that concludes my motto rant.  

    Let's move on.  Just let it go.  I have.

    What else?
    
    Yes, that's right.  Wisconsin can proudly say that it is the birthplace 
of...drumroll please...Liberace!

    No, seriously.

    How did a man become so flamboyant in such a dull state you ask?

    Well, what the hell else is there to do than practice the piano and hone 
your flamboyant skills?
    
    Okay, last exceedingly interesting fact.  

    Wisconsin's state weasel.

    I know, that right there begs for closer examination and ridicule.

    They have a state weasel?...What?

    I mean, D.C.'s not even a state and we have whole buildings full of 
weasels.

    We don't need no stinkin' state weasel...We have politicians.  

    Okay, so what kind of state designates a state weasel? One that 
apparently loves its weasel.

    Their state weasel is the badger.  One of their nicknames is the Badger 
State.

    Truthfully, I'm not a 100% sure what a badger even is.    

    When I asked Donna what it was she rolled her eyes and said something 
about it being a disgrace that I help run a nation, but don't know what a 
badger is.

    I simply told her I was absent the day we covered badgers at Harvard. 

    Well, if I had to make an educated guess I'd say it's a cross between a 
cat and gerbil.

    I may be wrong. 

* * * *

    Okay, so I've now been in Wisconsin for forty minutes. 

    Still bored.

    Of course, now that we've actually left the airport, I expect the fun to 
really begin.

    Don't worry, I haven't gotten my hopes up too high.

    Donna neglected to tell her parents when our flight was arriving, so we 
are now in a cab on the way to their home.  

    The cab smells like cheese.  I imagine that most everything in Wisconsin 
does, so I better get used to it.  

    As I am sniffing to try to determine what kind of cheese it smells like, 
I see Donna lean forward and address the driver.

    "Can you pull into that bakery please and then wait a few minutes for us? 
 Thanks."

    I groan, "Bakery?  What for?"

    "You thought it would be nice to get my mother the sweet rolls she loves 
so much."

    "I did?" I say, as I wrinkle my brow.  

    Donna nods and says dryly, "Yes, you're a very considerate man."

    I grin, "Well, that I knew."

    Donna sighs and then shoves me out the door.  Once we enter the large 
bakery, she starts to head in another direction.   

    "Where are you going?  I don't know where the sweet rolls are."
    
    Donna points to a sign in the back, "That big yellow sign that says 
'sweet rolls' should be a good indication."  I smile sheepishly and she 
continues, "I'm going to get some bread."

    I nod and we head our separate ways.  I walk up to a stand that has a 
package of freshly baked sweet rolls.  That's right, *a* package.

    So, naturally, just as I grab for it, an older woman to my right also 
grabs for it.  We each manage to grasp a good portion of it with one hand.

    I turn to her and say politely, "I'm sorry, ma'am, but I was here first."

    She scoffs at me.  "I don't believe I've ever seen you in these parts, 
young man.  These sweet rolls are for natives, such as myself."

    I laugh out loud, thinking she must be joking.  However, her jaw tightens 
and I realize she is very serious.  

    Okay, now I'm pissed.  

    "No, lady, I'm not a *native*.  If I were, I'd probably be lactose 
intolerant and, like yourself, rude."

    The woman gasps and places a hand to her chest, "Well, I have never been 
so insulted in my entire life.  How dare you call me lactose intolerant!"

    I laugh for two reasons: 

    One, because she misunderstood my insult.  

    And two, because she was so horrified that I'd label her lactose 
intolerant. 

    Apparently, such a label in Wisconsin is akin to slut and whore in normal 
parts of the country.  

    I smile, imagining this woman with a big LI embroidered on her shirt and 
standing  in the middle of downtown being ridiculed by the townspeople.

    I finally sigh loudly, as I tug on the box, "Just give me the sweet 
rolls." 

    She shakes her head sharply, "I will do no such thing after the 
disrespect you just showed me.  You must be a city boy.  Only city boys show 
such a lack of respect."

    I snort, "Yeah, my street gang prides ourselves on that."

    She nods her head, "I should have known as much."  She pauses and then 
points at my purple tie, "That must be your gang's color."

    I chuckle at the sheer absurdity of the statement.  

    After my chuckle has subsided, I tug at the box forcefully and finally 
remove it from her grip.

    I grin at her as I begin to backpedal and I notice her eyes narrow at me. 
"Nice meeting you."

    She simply shakes her head and I hear her mutter something about 
'riff-raff'.

    I walk down the bread aisle to find Donna, my sweet rolls tucked securely 
under my arm.  I find her examining a loaf of rye bread and come to stand by 
her side.  "You are not going to believe the woman I just met.  I had to 
wrestle the last package of sweet rolls away from her."

    Donna smiles at me, "Always the gentleman, aren't you, Joshua?"

    "Hey, they were rightfully mine.  I was there first," I reply 
defensively. "That woman was a witch."

    Donna shrugs and returns her attention to the bread.  I can tell she no 
longer cares about my ordeal.  

    I sigh, "I gotta tell you, Donna.  I'm not very impressed with the 
hospitality this state has to offer so far."

    Donna rolls her eyes, "Come on, let's go before you get into anymore 
trouble."

    I nod and follow behind her while adding, "She referred to me as 
riff-raff...Me!"

    I see the back of Donna's head shake and I am sure she just rolled her 
eyes at me yet again.

* * * * 

    Twenty minutes later, we pull up in front of a large white farmhouse.  It 
is pretty and well-kept.  Rows of flowers decorate its front and walkway.  I 
survey the rest of the land and then turn to Donna with surprise clearly 
present in my voice.

    "I didn't know you grew up on a farm."

    Donna shakes her head, "I didn't.  A few months ago, after my father 
retired, my parents moved from Madison to here and bought this place."

    "So your Dad's a farmer now?"

    She smiles, "Not really.  He has one cow that they use for milk, two pigs 
because my mother thinks they are cute and a tomato garden."

    I laugh, as we exit the car and head to the trunk to get our luggage. I'm 
just about to close the trunk when I hear a loud sound coming from the 
doorway of the house.  At first I thought it was a bark, but I soon realized 
it was Donna's father greeting her.

     She smiles at him and runs to the house to hug him.  I use this time to 
peruse the man.  He is over six feet tall with broad shoulders and a chest 
that looks to be as hard as stone.  His hair is white with specks of gray 
throughout it and his face seems kindly, yet stoic.  

    When they finish greeting each other, they walk to the car with arms 
linked.  

    Donna presents me to her father, "Daddy, this is my friend and boss, 
Joshua Lyman."

    I extend my hand and he shakes it with a grip so tight I nearly wet my 
pants.  

    I quickly remove my hand and use my other one to massage it until the 
blood begins to flow again.  

    "Nice to meet you, Mr. Lyman," her father greets me.

    "Please, call me Josh," I say with an inexplicable nervous giggle.

    Donna turns to her father, "Where's Mom?"

    "Oh, she just stepped out for a minute, Piglet.  She should be home soon."

    My head whipped in the direction of Donna and her father as I heard him 
refer to her as 'piglet'.  I see Donna's face blush and she avoids my eyes, 
both signs that she is embarrassed by the nickname.  

    Her father bends down to pick up our bags and continues to the house.  
Donna tries to follow quickly behind him, but I touch her arm before she can 
get very far.  She reluctantly turns toward me. "Yes, Joshua?"

    I grin, "Oh, nothing, Piglet.  I was just wondering if you've seen Pooh 
around."

    She groans and shakes her head, "Are you going to ridicule me 
relentlessly about this?"

    "I was planning on it."

    "It's just a dumb nickname."

    "How did you get it?"

    "When I was little I'd roll around in the mud all day, so my father 
nicknamed me Piglet."

    I laugh.  "Too bad you don't do that anymore.  Add in a college co-ed and 
I'd pay good money to see that."  

    Donna rewards me with a slap on my arm, "That's not funny."

    I smile and pick up the package of sweet rolls I'd placed on top of the 
trunk, "Come on, Piglet, let's go inside.  I hear Pooh's set out a great meal 
of ham and bacon...Oh my, I sure hope it wasn't anyone you knew."

    I laugh and quickly dodge a punch from Donna as I dash inside the house.

* * * *

    Donna, her father and I are enjoying drinks in the living room when we 
hear the back door to the kitchen swing open and a female voice ring out.  
"Harold.  I need some help with the groceries."

    Harold immediately stands up and I can sense that Donna's mother has 
instilled in him a certain amount of fear of her.

    "Yes, dear," he answers sweetly and heads off towards the kitchen. I 
laugh and shake my head, amazed that Mrs. Moss just turned that big bear of a 
man into a gutless little lamb.  

    I smile and turn towards Donna, "Your father's whipped."

    "Excuse me?"

    "Donna, he jumped up like a jack-in-the-box as soon as she called his 
name."

    "My father is very devoted to my mother."
    
    "Devoted, trained like a circus monkey...Same thing."

    Donna smiles widely at me, "Who do you think I learned to train you so 
well from?"

    I scoff at that. "I'm not a circus monkey."

    "No, if you were, I'd have been able to train you to answer a phone by 
now."

    "And lighten your already light workload?  I think not."

    Donna opens her mouth to respond, when her mother's voice rings out again 
from the kitchen.

    "Harold, you are not going to believe what happened to me at the bakery.  
I was nearly assaulted by this insolent young man over a package of sweet 
rolls."

    That's the moment my mouth drops open and I very nearly fall out of my 
chair.

    Donna sees my reaction and shakes her head, as if by doing so that will 
make it untrue. "She's not...It can't be...You're not the-..."

    I squeeze my eyes shut and slowly nod, "One who wrestled a package of 
sweet rolls away from you mother?...Yes, unfortunately, I am."

    "Oh my God!" Donna practically screams.

    I quickly clamp my hand over her mouth so that she can't scream again.  
When I feel sure that she won't commit the same offense, I remove my hand.

    She swallows hard before whispering harshly to me, "I can't believe you 
did that to my mother!"

    "I didn't know she was your mother at the time!"

    "And that makes it right?"

    "No, but it certainly makes me less of a jerk."

    "I don't think my mother will see it that way when she finds you sitting 
in her living room," Donna says through clenched teeth. 

    I run a hand through my hair and say quickly, "I have to hide."

    "This is no time for games, Josh!"

    I roll my eyes, "From your mother, Donna!  I wasn't suggesting an 
impromptu game of hide-and-seek."

    Donna blushes slightly and then shakes her head, "No, that's ridiculous.  
She's expecting you to be here."

    I shrug, "I don't care if you help me or not, but I'm hiding. Then, first 
chance I get, I'm calling a cab and getting the hell out of this God forsaken 
state."

    I quickly survey the large room. It's very pretty and decorated in French 
Country. (So I watch the Home & Garden Channel late at night when I can't 
asleep, what's it to you?)

    Unfortunately, there aren't a lot of places to hide.  There are two 
couches and a sitting area with two chairs to the left.  The only other 
possibility is a window seat situated between the two chairs.

    I point to it and then look at Donna, "Does that open?"

    "No, Josh, you can't climb in there."

    I quickly walk over to it and pick up the lid.  Mrs. Moss has stored a 
few things away in here, but there's just enough room for me to get down on 
all fours.  
    
    "Joshua!" Donna says sharply, as she comes to stand by my side. "Be a 
man, Josh.  Face my mother and get it over with.  Just be a man."

    I smile weakly, "This might surprise you because I know I put on a good 
show, but I'm not much of a man.  I have no problem with confrontation when 
it's some moronic senator, but I'm not exactly good at confronting fifty-six 
year old women that I've just argued with about rolls and who happen to be my 
assistant's mother!"

    "So you're a wuss."

    "I prefer prudent, but whatever works for you."

    Donna is just about to try to reason with me again, when we hear her 
mother's voice...Only this time it's headed our way."

    I quickly crawl into the window seat and then realize that I 
overestimated the depth of the seat.  Turns out, the lid is not closing and 
leaving a gap of about an inch.  

    I'm panicking now, as I realize that her mother is about to enter the 
room.

    Suddenly, Donna jumps on top of the seat and the lids comes crashing down 
on my head.

    This is good because Donna just saved my ass from being discovered. 
    
    This is bad because I think she broke my neck in doing so.

    I wedge my arm out from between my hip and the side of the window seat 
and do my best to massage my neck.

    I think I'll be okay.  At the very least, I should be able to milk some 
sympathy and guilt out of Donna because of it.  

    I listen to the muffled voices coming from outside.

    "Donna!" her mother shrieks, "It's been so long.  I'm so glad to have you 
home, dear."  

    I hear the footsteps getting closer and listen to Donna greet her mother, 
"Hi, Mom.  It's good to be home."

    "Well, get over here and give your mother a hug!" she says.

    Oh no, oh damn.  Don't do it, Donna.  Think quickly.

    "Um, I can't, I sprained my ankle yesterday."

    That's my girl.  

    Her mother responds worriedly, "Oh no, how did that happen?"

    "My boss, Joshua Lyman, made me stand on a chair to change a light bulb 
yesterday and I fell off."

    Damn her.  That was uncalled for.  A blatant attack when I am powerless 
to defend myself.  That's just plain cheap.

    I can sense the irritation in her mother's voice as she responds, "What 
an inconsiderate  boss.  What kind of man makes a woman change a bulb like 
that when he is perfectly capable?"

    I can hear the smile in Donna's voice as she responds, "Well, capable 
isn't a word I'd ever use to describe Joshua."

    Okay, I'm beginning to feel a little insulted.  Of course I'm capable.  I 
help run a damn country for heaven's sake.  True, I still can't figure out 
how to get that 12:00 on my VCR to stop blinking and I don't think I'll ever 
understand microwaves, but that doesn't make me incapable.

    Donna's mother responds, "Well, I am certainly happy that you decided not 
to bring him then.  He sounds like a person I'd rather not know."

    Just then, I remember Donna's father.  He must be one confused guy right 
about now.  Oh well.

    I hear her mother take a step towards me and I jump a little.  "Here, 
Donna, let me help you up.  I need to get a serving platter for dinner out of 
the window seat."

    "No!" Donna nearly screams.

    Smooth, real smooth, Donna.  You very nearly overreacted. 

    She stutters, searching for her words, "I...I mean, I'll get it for you.  
You go start dinner and I'll bring it in to you."

    "Oh, don't be silly, dear.  I don't want you putting pressure on that 
ankle.  I'll get it."

    "But mom-..."

    "No arguments, Donnatella.  That ankle needs to heal.  Now let me help 
you up."

    I can tell that Donna's mother is standing right in front of Donna now.  
The door creaks, as Donna's weight is removed and the lid lifts slightly. 

    My heart is beating so fast I'm positive that I'm about to go into 
cardiac arrest.  

    I'm really not cut out for this hiding stuff.  It's a good thing I gave 
up my childhood ambition of being a burglar.

    I simply wait for the inevitable moment.  I'm about to be discovered and 
the dread has caused me to break out into a sweat.

    Just then, the lid opens completely and light shines down onto me.  

    Donna's mother gasps and places a hand over her mouth.

    I turn my head up and manage a weak grin.  Then I reach over to the 
serving platter in front of me and hand it up to her. "I think this is what 
you're looking for."

    She accepts it from me in a robotic motion, as her mouth now hangs open.

    I struggle to my knees and stand up, her eyes watching my every movement.

    She finally manages to croak out, "It's you...The rude man from the 
bakery...And you're in my home...in my window seat."

    I smile and extend my hand, "Joshua Lyman, nice to meet you."

    Her eyes widen just a bit, as I suspect that she was hoping I really was 
some gang member who had followed her home to rob her, rather than accept the 
notion that I am someone that her daughter is closely associated with.

    She fumbles for her words, "You...You're Donna's boss?  You're Joshua 
Lyman?"

    "In the flesh," I reply.  I should be apologizing profusely right now, 
but for some reason I decide to be my charming self instead.  

    She places a hand to her forehead and for a second I think she's going to 
faint.  She finally says weakly, "I don't understand.  How can this be?"

    Donna finally chooses this moment to speak up, "Mom, it's all a big 
misunderstanding.  Josh didn't know who you were at the bakery.  When he 
realized you were my mother he foolishly chose to hide rather than face you."

    Mrs. Moss' eyes narrow now and she suddenly seems a lot stronger, "So, 
you're a coward, too.  Is that about right?"

    The question catches me off guard and I don't know how to respond, "Yes, 
ma'am...I mean no, ma'am.  I mean, I am, but...uh...What was the question 
again?"

    "You're a rude and cowardly man who does not grasp the concept of 
respect," she says sharply.

    As far as first impressions go, this is not my best.

    My brow furrows, "I can see how you might perceive me as that way, 
but-..."

    "I don't perceive, Mr. Lyman.  I judge a person by their actions and form 
opinions accordingly."

    I don't know how to respond to that, so I say with a nervous chuckle, 
"Hey, at least you know I'm not a gang member now.  That's got to count for 
something."

    She doesn't crack a smile and I am certain that she hasn't since the 
early sixties.  
    
    I sigh and look her in the eye, "Mrs. Moss, I'm really sorry about what 
happened in the bakery.  I was wrong and I apologize.  As for what happened 
here, I also apologize.  I just wanted Donna to have a nice homecoming and I 
didn't want it to be ruined by me."

    I have to admit, for a load of crap that sounded pretty good.

    She shakes her head and speaks with clipped words, "Now I know why you're 
a politician.  You lie with the same ease most people have when speaking the 
truth."

    I grin.  To me, that's a compliment.  

    I can tell by her expression, however, that she disapproves of my 
reaction, so I allow my grin to fade.

    There's an uncomfortable silence during which Mrs. Moss studies me 
intensely.

    Harold finally breaks the silence.  "Listen, Ruth, why don't we try to 
forget about this and just enjoy the weekend.  We never get to see our 
daughter and we wouldn't want to let this ruin it."

    Donna nods enthusiastically, "I think that's a great idea."

    Ruth reluctantly nods and I watch as a slow sigh passes through her lips. 
"Oh, all right.  I'll try my best."

    I notice Donna's relieved smile and let out a breath of air I hadn't 
realized I was holding.

    Ruth and Harold turn to leave, but not before Ruth throws over her 
shoulder, "Donna, show *him* to the guest room and then meet us in the dining 
room for dinner in an hour."

    "Yes, Mom," Donna responds.

    As soon as her parents disappear from sight, Donna smacks me upside the 
head.

    "Oww!" I squeal and rub at my head. "What was that for?"

    "What was that for?! What was that for?!  That was for making a bad 
situation worse, Joshua!"

    I shrug, "I think it went well."

    Her eyes widen at me, "This is a disaster!  Compared to this, the maiden 
voyage of the Titanic went well!"

    I smile, "I think you may be exaggerating just a bit."

    "You don't understand, Josh.   My mother already disliked you."

    "Why?" I ask, my voice noting surprise.

    "Because she hates politicians and she hates that you're the reason I 
only come home twice a year."

    "I wouldn't really say *I'm* the reason...It's more like the nation's the 
reason."

    "Josh."

    "Well, it's not like I handcuff you to my desk or anything, Donna.  It's 
your job and it's an important one."

    "I know, but as far as my mother's concerned, I could find a perfectly 
good job here in town."  

    I smile, "True, but then you wouldn't have the pleasure of working 
shoulder to shoulder with one of the President's closest advisors.  And not 
every boss would be so understanding of your distinctive penmanship."

    Her face softens a bit, "You know I love working for you.  I'm just 
trying to help you understand where my mother's coming from."

    I place my hands on my hips, "Okay, fine.  But there's not much I can do 
about it now."

    "Just don't be...you."

    "What does that mean?" I ask in a voice full of puzzlement.

    Donna sighs, as if irritated that she must explain this to me. "It means 
don't be yourself.  Don't make jokes where normal people wouldn't.  Don't be 
sarcastic.  Don't be arrogant.  Don't be conceited."

    "So that would make me...really dull."

    She smiles, "Dull.  That's good.  Go with that.  My mother loves dull."

    I grin, "Well, she loves you, doesn't she?"

    Donna shakes her head sharply, "See, that right there, don't do 
that...Better make it no jokes at all."

    I groan, "This is going to be one helluva long weekend."  

    "You better not cause anymore trouble for me, Josh.  I already invented a 
limp for you."

    "You don't have to limp now that the truth's out." I pause and then add, 
"And thanks so much for adding to your mother's dislike of me with your 
little story.  That was very helpful."

    She grins, "It's not like it couldn't have happened."

    "I know how to change a light bulb, Donna."

    "I guess I'll just have to take your word for it," she says with a smile 
as she turns on her heel and leaves the room.

    I moan and rub at my face.  

    Wisconsin is officially the state I hate the most.  

* * * *

    One hour later, we all sit down to dinner.  

    I hate eating at people's houses and I'll tell you why.

    I like my meat very well done.  I mean, charcoal, the darker the better.  

    If it's even a little pink, I start gagging and my appetite goes out the 
window.

    Of course, most hostesses don't serve very well done meat.  They prefer 
to serve meat that could still moo if it had any energy left.

    Mrs. Moss is such a hostess.  Unfortunately, she likes to cook her meat 
so that if you put your ear close enough to the plate you could probably 
still hear faint moos.

    I mean, red, fairly bloody prime rib.  

    Oh, damn.  I think mine just moved.  Seriously.  It's still got some life 
left in it and it's trying to run away.

    I'd gladly give it a few bucks for a cab and point it in the direction of 
the door if I weren't nauseous right now.  
    
    Donna's mother is watching me closely and notices that I am pushing my 
food around my plate.  She opens her mouth to speak and I am sure she's going 
to call me on it.  

    "So you're the reason my daughter never comes home," she says instead, 
catching me by surprise.

    I swallow the bite of my roll and nod. "Yes, ma'am, I suppose I am."

    "You must work her like a dog.  She rarely writes or calls."

    My eyes land on Donna, who is seated across from me. I can tell by her 
expression that she's heard this a million times and has no interest in 
engaging in this discussion.

    "Well, Donna is a very hard worker and her job is such that she has very 
little time for any type of personal life."

    "Yes, well, I guess I'll die without grandchildren because of it."

    I grin and blurt out, "Actually, Donna has terrible taste in men, so 
you're better off.  You'd end up with a grandchild who has the I.Q. of an 
ant, but can burp the alphabet backwards."

    Donna kicks me sharply beneath the table and I almost spit out the water 
I'd just brought into my mouth.  

    Ruth smiles at me, but it's not a friendly smile.  Rather, it's the smile 
of someone who's about to use your own words against you and couldn't be 
happier about it.

    "Well, I agree with you on one point, Mr. Lyman.  Donna does have 
terrible taste in men.  After all, she did decide to work for the likes of 
you, now didn't she?" she snaps.

    I have to bite my tongue to keep from saying something Donna will make me 
regret.  I simply nod and try to say good-naturedly, "You've got me there."

    I quickly drop my eyes to my plate, so as to avoid her piercing stare.  
If I didn't know any better, I'd think she was mentally placing a curse on me 
when she looks at me like that.

    I begin to push my meat around my plate some more.  I feel her eyes on me 
again and she finally speaks, "Is the meat not to your liking?"

    I shake my head and reluctantly meet her eyes, "No, it's great.  It's 
wonderful."

    "You don't look like you've eaten any of it."

    "Ruth, leave the boy alone," Harold interjects.  I'm beginning to think 
Harold is a man of few words.  Those are the first he's said all during 
dinner.

    "Harold, if he doesn't like the way the meat is prepared, the least he 
could do is tell me. It's rude to leave your meal untouched like that."

    "Mom," Donna says, "Josh is very particular about his meat, that's all."

    I shake my head vigorously, "Actually, this is perfect, just the way I 
like it."

    Okay, stupid move.  Now Ruth's eyes are on me waiting for me to take a 
bite.

    I take a deep breath, knowing I have no choice now.  I slowly spear a 
piece of prime rib with my fork, watching as a little blood squirts across 
the plate.  I force my hand to lift the fork to my mouth. I hesitate when it 
reaches my lips and will my mouth to open.  My lips eventually part and I 
stick the fork in my mouth, allowing the piece of meat to fall onto my 
tongue.  Then I slam my mouth shut and I begin to chew.  I manage a weak, 
closed-mouth smile at Mrs. Moss.

    However, my stomach is churning and I can feel myself begin to gag.  I am 
incredibly nauseated right now. 

    You know that moment when you realize you're going to vomit?...When the 
pit of your stomach becomes knotted and you can feel the contents of your 
stomach inching its way up your system.

    'Not now, not now,' I plead with my body.  

    Too late.  

    Before I can even fully process what's happening, I turn in my seat and 
vomit all over Ruth's oriental rug.  

    I take a deep breath, as the knot in my stomach slowly dissipates and the 
waves of nausea fade.  

    The good news is I feel a lot better now.

    The bad news is I'm guessing this doesn't improve my status with Ruth.

    The other diners let out gasps at my deed and I'm sure I heard Ruth 
shriek.  

    I slowly straighten and turn to face them.  They simply stare at me with 
shocked faces.  There is a long span of silence until Ruth whacks Harold in 
the arm.

    "Do something, Harold!"

    "What do you want me to do, Ruth?" he asks, as he shies away from her. 

    "Clean it up!"

    At that, I wave my hands and stand up.  "Oh no, I'll do it.  It's the 
least I could do. I am so sorry about this.  I guess that egg salad sandwich 
I had on the plane for lunch didn't sit well with me...Um, where are the 
paper towels and...rug cleaner?"

    Ruth shakes her head and quickly stands up, throwing her napkin on her 
plate. "Oh, I'll do it!  You'll just make it worse."

    I shrug, realizing that there's no point in trying given her insistent 
tone.  

    Donna comes to my side and touches my arm, "Come on, let's go in the 
living room."

    I nod and follow her there.  Once in, she smacks me upside the head again.

    I yelp, "Oww!" and rub at my head. "What the hell was that for?"

    "You vomited!"

    "I know!"

    "How could you do that?"

    "Let me get this straight. You're angry at me because of an involuntary 
bodily reaction?"

    "You shouldn't have eaten that meat!"

    "I was trying to be polite, just like you wanted.  You think I wanted to 
eat that mangled, half-dead cow?"

    "No, I think you're an idiot for eating it when you knew full well how 
you'd react."

    I groan and tiredly rub at my face. "Okay, Donna, let's try this.  We'll 
turn me into a marionette and you can be my puppet-master.  You can just pull 
my strings and make me say and do whatever you please."

    "Don't tempt me."

    Donna's eyes narrow at me, "Let me anywhere near strings, Josh, and 
there's a good chance they'll end up wrapped around your neck."

    I grin, "Has anyone ever told you that you have violent tendencies?"

    She huffs at that and then exits the room.

    I don't know about you, but I think things are going very well.

    Although I do think I'll avoid Ruth for the rest of the night by turning 
in early.

* * * * 

    Oh God.  What is that sound?  

    I'm still in that state of being half-dead to the world.  I can feel the 
cool stroll of drool on the side of my chin, but I am powerless to lift my 
arm and wipe it away.

    What time is it and what the hell was that sound?

    There it is again.

    It's a bird of some sort and it's squawking.  
            
    I'm just about to place a pillow over my head, when my bedroom light 
suddenly shines down upon me.

    "Whoever that is, get out or I will kill you," I grumble.

    "Josh," Donna says in a sickeningly sweet tone as she comes to sit next 
to me. "It's time to get up."

    I pry one eye open and look at my window. "Donna, it's still dark out.  
It must be four o'clock in the morning."

    "Yes, that's right."

    There's that damn bird again. "What is that?  A chicken?" I ask her.

    My eyes are closed so I can't see her, but I am sure she rolled her eyes 
at my question.  "It's a rooster, Josh."

    "Why the hell do your parents have a rooster?"

    "It wakes them up in the morning."

    "I know this is Wisconsin, but surely you have more sophisticated alarm 
clocks available here."

    "This is a farm, Josh.  It's supposed to have  a rooster."

    "This isn't a farm, Donna.  A farm implies having more than three 
animals, two of which are apparently for show."  I pause and then add, "Why 
do your parents need to get up so early anyway?"

    "To milk the cow and feed the pigs."

    "And that can't wait until a normal hour of the morning?"

    "My parents like to do it early.  It makes them feel like real farmers."

    I groan, "Well, good for them.  Now leave me alone."

    "It's time to get up."

    "No, it'll be time to get up when there is actually sun in the sky 
indicating that it is morning."

    There's a pause and then Donna says slowly, "Josh, my Mom wants you to 
milk Hilda."

    I open one eye at that and manage a semblance of a grin, "I'm guessing 
Hilda isn't a gorgeous female friend of yours and that milk isn't any sort of 
sexual innuendo."

    She smiles, "Hilda's our cow."

    I slam my eyes shut, "Forget it, Donna.  I don't touch cows.  Your 
parents have managed to milk Hilda just fine without me.  I'm sure they can 
handle it today."

    "Actually, my mother was hoping you would do it as a sort of gesture.  
You know, for all of the trouble you've caused so far."

    "No, your mother wants to punish me," I reply.

    "That too," she agrees.

    "I'm not doing it," I say again, this time more forcefully.

    Donna pulls the covers off of me and I shiver from the sudden breeze 
surrounding my body.

    "You're doing it."

    "No."

    "Get up, Josh."

    "Go away, I'm sleeping," I mumble.

    I feel Donna's hands on my back and she gives me a hard shove.  I roll 
off the bed and land on the floor with a thud.
    
    I speak in a garbled voice filled with defeat, "Okay, I'm up."

    I don't see it, but I know she smiles in satisfaction as she leaves the 
room.

* * * *

    It is now 4:15 am and I am wearing what I have termed 'hillbilly duds'.  
I borrowed them from Donna's father.  They consist of a pair of faded jeans, 
a ripped red and black plaid flannel shirt and brown leather cowboy boots.

    All I need now is a chunk of tobacco and a lesson on how to properly spit 
and I'll be all set.  

    I find Donna standing in the foyer holding a large metal bucket.  

    I smile, "Oh, is that for me? You shouldn't have."

    Donna doesn't react to me because she is too busy trying not to laugh.  
She is biting her lip, as her eyes study my appearance from head to toe.

    I grin and rotate in front of her so she can get the full effect of my 
'ensemble'. 
    
    "Howdy, ma'am."

    She giggles, "I can't believe you're wearing that."

    "Well, it was either this or your father's 1970's leisure suit.  Frankly, 
I just think this is more practical." 
    
    "You look...nice."

    I smile, "Thanks.  Maybe you and I can go to the tractor pull later, 
little lady."

    She laughs and hands the bucket to me.  I examine its deep interior and 
then look up at her with a grin, "Sorry, nurse, but I'm going to need a 
bigger one."

    Donna rewards me with a light slap. "It's for Hilda."

    I nod and peer into the bucket again, "My, we sure have high expectations 
for Hilda, don't we?"

    "Oh, she'll fill it up.  Mom says she always does."

    I shrug and walk to the door.  Donna follows me and we head to the barn 
where Hilda stays.

    I open the barn door and walk up to Hilda.  I survey the massive animal 
and then say, "Got milk?"

    Donna chuckles behind me and then places a stool in front of the cow.  

    I place the bucket underneath her...um...what do you call them? I want to 
venture a guess, but I'm not sure it'd be appropriate.
    
    You know what I mean and let's just leave it at that.

    I sit back now, with my arms crossed, and wait.  
    
    A few moments pass before Donna taps my shoulder, "Josh, what are you 
doing?"

    "Milking, Hilda.  What do you think I'm doing?"

    "I think your sitting on a stool staring at a cow."

    "Well, I don't want to rush her.  Why? Do you think the staring makes her 
nervous?"

    Donna laughs, "Josh, you have to actually touch her in order for milk to 
come out."

    "What?" I ask in surprise.

    "You have to tug on her...you know."

    "You mean she doesn't just do it?"

    "No.  Haven't you ever seen a cow milked in a movie?"

    "Yes, but I always assumed that it was exaggerated by Hollywood."

    She sighs, "You have to pull on her...you know...and the milk will come 
out."

    I shake my head and say matter-of-factly, "Well, that just ain't 
happening."

    "Josh."

    I grin, "Donna, we don't even know each other that well.  That's a second 
or third date thing at least."

    "Joshua."

    "You milk her."

    "You were asked to."

    I groan and say in defeat, "Fine."

    I slowly lean forward, my hands shaking a bit, and grab a hold of 
her...you know.

    I tug on them and the cow let's out a loud moo.  I immediately back away, 
my hands in the air.  

    Donna speaks, "More gently."

    I nod and pat Hilda's side.  "Look, I know we haven't known each other 
for very long, but this feels right.  You know?  The first moment I saw 
you-..."

    "Josh," Donna says with a hint of amusement in her voice.

    "Donna, it's obvious that Hilda is a sensible cow.  She doesn't let just 
any guy off the street milk her.  I have to sweet talk her a bit."

    Donna scoffs at that, "Well, she sure seems a lot more sensible than the 
women you date."

    I grin at that and then look back at Hilda.  "Okay, let's do it, Hilda."

    I lean forward again and begin tugging.  This time, a little 'plink, 
plink' begins to sound in the bucket.  

    I smile proudly and tug some more.  'Plink, plink.'

    Then, abruptly, nothing.

    I peer into the bucket and see that its bottom is barely covered with 
what amounts to a few drops of milk.

    I pat Hilda gently, "Come on, girl, don't quit on me now."

    I tug some more, but get nothing in return.  I look up at Donna, but she 
shrugs, "I have no idea what's wrong."

    I smile, "I do.  She's a female, all right.  She teases you, gets you 
excited, gives you a little taste and then, bam, it's over."

    For that comment, I am rewarded with yet another smack upside the head.  

    I shrug.  Okay, I deserved that one.

    I grab the bucket and stand up. "Well, let's go."

    "You can't go inside and give that little bit to my Mom."

    "I don't have any choice, Donna.  Hilda quit on me."

    Donna sighs, "Okay, let's go."

    We make our way back to the house and enter through the kitchen entrance. 
 Ruth's eyes immediately fall upon me and her lips curl into a smirk filled 
with distaste.  

    I place the bucket on the counter and then try to leave the room quickly 
before she can call me on it.  

    I have one more step to take before I cross the threshold, when I hear, 
"What is this?"

    I turn around, "That's the milk from Hilda."

    "It's a few drops of milk, Mr. Lyman."

    "I tried, but she stopped giving milk."

    Ruth sighs and wipes her hands on her apron. "Apparently, you did it 
wrong.  I guess if I want it done, I'll have to do it myself."

    She grabs the bucket and heads for the door.  My eyes widen and I shake 
my head, "No, you shouldn't do that." I pause and then say lamely, "I'll get 
Harold to do it."

    Her jaw tightens, "Harold has a bad back, Mr. Lyman.  I milk the cow 
everyday."

    I raise my eyebrows in surprise and then shrug, "Then by all means."

    Ruth leaves and Donna approaches me.  I hold up a hand, "Don't hit me 
again."

    She smiles, "I wasn't going to."

    "'Cause I tried.  This isn't my fault."

    "I know."

    Donna and I sit down at the kitchen table and begin to eat the fruit 
salad Ruth has prepared.

    Five minutes later, the kitchen door swings open and my eyes gravitate to 
Ruth.

    Oh no.  Oh damn.

    She stands in the doorway, holding an empty bucket.  Her hair is covered 
in mud and plastered to her face.  The rest of her body is also covered in 
mud and it is dripping from her pants onto the floor.  She takes a few steps 
in and I notice that she leaves muddy footprints on the hardwood floor.

    Oh, I am so screwed.

    Donna's mouth is hanging open when I finally remove my eyes from Ruth and 
look at her.  

    Donna mouths, "Do something!" to me and I immediately jump up from my 
seat.  

    I walk over to her mother, quickly grabbing a paper towel on my way.  
"Um...here, let me help."  I begin to dab at her with the paper towel, as she 
scowls at me.   She finally swats me away with her hand.

    "Get away from me," she growls.

    I take a step back. "I'm so sorry.  What happened?"

    "I slipped while trying to milk Hilda and fell in a puddle of mud!"

    My brow furrows and I say softly, "But I didn't see any mud in the barn."

    "I took her outside.  She'll only give milk outside."

    I look over at Donna who shrugs and then reply, "Oh, see, I didn't know 
that."

    She shakes her head and some of the mud flies off of her hair and lands 
on the cabinets.  A little lands on my nose, but I wisely choose to ignore it.

    Mrs. Moss replies sharply, "No, of course you didn't.  I am sure you did 
the minimal and then gave up.  I should have expected as much."

    "Mom-...," Donna tries to interject.

    "No, Donna, don't try to make excuses for him.  It is apparent that he is 
determined to make his stay here as unpleasant as possible."

    I sigh, "I'm sorry, Mrs. Moss. I sincerely apologize."

    With that, I leave the kitchen.  I am halfway up the stairs when I hear 
Donna speak to her mother.  I tiptoe back downstairs and stand at the wall 
next to the doorway so that at I am out of their sight.

    "Mom, why are you being so hard on him?  He's already apologized for your 
first meeting and for hiding.  Everything else has been out of his control."

    "Really, Donna, I don't understand what you see in him.  He's rude and 
disrespectful."

    "You don't know him like I do," Donna replies defensively.

    "But I do know you and I have to say I am disappointed in the choices you 
have made, Donnatella.  First, you waste years of your life with that doctor. 
 You go all through college with a million different majors and then don't 
even graduate.  Then, you take off on a whim and join some no-name 
presidential candidate's campaign staff."

    "He's not a no-name anymore, Mother.  He happens to be President of the 
United States," Donna responds sharply.

    I smile at that.

    "You had no way of knowing that then, Donna.  And, now, you spend almost 
every waking hour with this sleazy, amoral politician.  You have no time to 
write, call or come home.  You'll probably never marry and I'll never be a 
grandmother." Ruth pauses and then adds, "I really am very disappointed in 
you."

    That's it.  I can't take it anymore.

    I choose this point to step into the kitchen.  

    Donna and Ruth appear startled, apparently completely surprised at my 
presence.

    I look Ruth in the eye, "You owe your daughter an apology, Mrs. Moss."

    "I don't believe this is any of your business.  We were engaged in a 
private conversation."

    "I care about Donna, so that makes it my business." I pause and briefly 
look at Donna before continuing.  "Do you have any idea what an amazing 
person your daughter is?  Any idea at all?  She rose up from a deflated 
self-esteem and crushed dreams to work for the most powerful man in the 
world.  Everyday, she works to make this nation a better place to 
live...Everyday, she plays a hand in helping the people of this nation.  I'm 
not as incapable as you may think, but I couldn't survive one day at my job 
without her.  She makes my job easier and she makes it enjoyable."

    I swallow hard and then go on, "You can blame me if you like for never 
hearing from your daughter, but I think it's about time you take a look at 
the role you play.  Why would she want to have anything to do with you after 
the way you treat her?  You should be proud of your daughter and the kind of 
person she is.  You should be damn proud." I pause and glance at Donna, while 
saying softly, "I sure as hell am."
    
    Donna offers me a warm smile and I can see the appreciation in her eyes.

    Mrs. Moss is visibly taken aback at my rant.  She self-consciously pats 
her hair and runs her hand down her neck.  She clears her throat and then 
says softly to me, "I'm sorry."

    I shake my head, "I'm not the one you should be apologizing to."

    Ruth turns to Donna and says, "I'm sorry, Donna.  I guess I never let 
myself realize that I was the one driving you away.  I am proud of you, dear."

    Donna smiles and steps forward to embrace her mother.  I hear her 
whisper, "I know, Mom."

    I take this moment to quietly exit the room and leave them alone.  I am 
just about to walk up the stairs when I hear Donna's voice behind me. 

    "Josh."

    I turn around and walk the distance separating us.  "Yeah?"

    She smiles at me, "Thanks."

    "Anytime."

    Donna smirks at me, "But I don't need you fighting my battles.  I am 
perfectly capable of defending myself."

    I smile at her, "I know you are.  I just thought I could help you out a 
bit this time."

    Donna smiles and steps toward me.  She places a hand on my shoulder and 
then lifts her face up towards mine, placing a light kiss on my cheek.

    Then she turns on her heel and disappears into the kitchen.

    I lift my fingers to the spot where Donna's lips had just been and smile.

* * * *

    It's late the next day when our cab pulls into the driveway.  Harold 
carries our bags to the cab, as Donna and I prepare to say good-bye to Mrs. 
Moss.

    I step towards Ruth and give her an awkward hug.  

    After my little rant, our relationship improved greatly.  She could see 
that I truly cared for Donna and that I was a decent human being.  She gave 
me a chance and we formed a semi-comfortable relationship.

    She smiles at me as I pull away and pats my cheek.  "Take care of my 
daughter."

    I grin and glance at Donna, "I don't think she'll be needing me, too."

    Mrs. Moss smiles warmly and nods at me, as she is finally able to believe 
that.  

    Donna now steps forward and pulls her mother into a long, lingering hug.  
I hear her whisper, "I love you, Mom."

    Mrs. Moss returns the sentiment and then says, "Be sure to write and call 
more frequently, dear.  I miss you so much during our times apart."
    
    Donna smiles and nods, "I will."

    I watch as Ruth's eyes land on me and her face softens.  She leans 
towards Donna and whispers.  I am sure she meant for me not to hear, but I do 
nonetheless.

    She says, "Don't let this one go, Donna.  I think he may just be the one."

    I notice Donna's eyebrows rise and she looks at me out of the corner of 
her eye.  She doesn't respond except with a smile directed at her mother that 
I am unable to read.

    I must say that the comment was surprising to me, too.  I think I may 
have to give that one some more thought.

    After exchanging a few more quick good-byes, Donna and I walk to the cab. 
 We settle in and the driver pulls out of the driveway.  

    A few minutes pass before I turn to Donna and ask, "So what did your 
mother say to you before we left?"

    Donna grins and says, "She said 'tell your boss he owes me $500 dollars 
for my oriental rug he ruined'."

    I smile and nod my head knowingly.

    I watch Donna, as we pass the rest of the time in silence.

    Okay, so I'll begrudingly admit it.

    Wisconsin isn't such a bad place.

    After all, it can claim Donna as its own.

    True, she's no Liberace, but who is?  




THE END

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