The Next evening, Milhouse was staying over with Bart in his treehouse. However, Milhouse hardly felt like reading comics by flashlight. He was trying, but really just staring right through them.

"Dude, what the Hell is wrong with you?" Bart asked, shining his flashlight in his friend's face, causing him to scream. "Calm down, man. You look like you saw a ghost. What's up?"

"My parents are scaring me. One minute they seem fine and the next they are ripping each other's heads off."

"That's just how parents are, man. Mine fight all the time," Bart shrugged.

"You don't understand, Bart. Yours have never divorced—mine have. I'm worried they will again."

"I doubt it. Something's keeping them together."

"Yeah, Mom says they stay together for me."

"Well, there you go, man."

"But that's not fair to them. . . Sometimes it seems like Mom really hates my dad. Her bedtime stories just keep getting scarier."

"Still with the bedtime stories, huh?"

Milhouse had told Bart of the creepy bedtime stories Mrs. Van Houten told. She would tell stories about how crappy it was to be married to a loser or about women trapped in loveless marriages. It was a little psycho sounding to Bart.

The blue haired boy nodded. "Bart, she really scared me last night. She told me not to worry because if Dad kept making mistakes, she'd take me with her somewhere far away."

"What the Hell, dude? She can't take you away again!"

"I know. I don't want to leave. She really scares me sometimes, Bart. Why can't she just be happy with my dad? I love both of my parents. Why can't they love each other?" He sighed sadly, looking down.

"I don't know, dude. I hope they work it out, though, for your sake. Let's get some sleep, alright?"

Milhouse merely nodded, getting into his sleeping bag, curling up with his stuffed animal, Puppy Goo Goo. Bart stayed up for a while, letting all that his friend had said soak in. Milhouse had more toiling on him than he could have imagined. He could seem so cheerful, yet have so much troubling him. Bart supposed the same could be said for him, though.

He was all tough on the outside, seeming not to have a care in the world, but he tried to have a normal conversation with his father and what did he get? "That's nice, son" or if his father had actually been listening, he'd get a strangling. All he wanted was to be heard, to have what he thought was a normal father-son relationship. He could admit to himself he had had some fun times with Homer, but when it really mattered, he wasn't there. He knew it wasn't the same as his friend's situation, but he felt he could relate.

He noticed how Milhouse held that stuffed animal and shook his head. His first reaction was to pull it away from him. However, when the kid started whimpering in his sleep, he put it back, smiling sympathetically. He then got ready for bed himself, pulling out his own Krusty doll and hugging it close.

The next afternoon after church, Luann insisted her family go on an outing. She was trying; she really was, but she just didn't feel she could fix what had been broken. They seemed content enough starting out, but her choice of outing was not the wisest. She proposed they go shopping and out to eat. The day pretty much consisted of her naming all of the things they couldn't possibly afford.

Kirk was losing it. It was humiliating and was working his late nerve. "Alright, Luann. I get it. I can't afford to buy you nice jewelry or expensive clothes. For crying out loud, who do you think you are, anyway? The Queen of England?!"

His outburst had caused a few stares. Luann looked around, a bit embarrassed, but narrowed her eyes. "You, Kirk, can hardly pay our bills let alone buy me nice things."

"Can we go eat now?" Milhouse asked. He did not want to hear his parents fighting, especially in the middle of a store.

"Good idea, Milhouse," his father said, stalking off toward the exit.

Luann took their son's hand and followed her husband.

Upon pulling into a restaurant parking lot, Luann scoffed, "Like you can afford this!"

Kirk sighed. He honestly had just wanted to treat them somewhere nice. He would figure out how to pay for it; he just wanted to make them happy. "Don't worry about it, Luann."

While looking at their menus, Luann said to Milhouse, "Be sure to order something cheap."

"Yes, Mom."

"He can order whatever the Hell he wants," Kirk insisted.

"Yes, Dad."

While eating their food, Milhouse tried to tune out his parents, but their mutterings were so deadly, it made him sick to his stomach.

"We'll be without electricity for a while now," Luann muttered, implying they would be in debt after their meal.

"At least we can say we had one good meal," Kirk muttered back.

"If we could afford more ingredients, we'd have better meals!"

"Oh, please, Luann. You can't even make toast right."

"Oh, please enlighten me on the correct way to make toast!"

"By not burning it!"

Milhouse slumped further in his seat, embarrassed by his parents and also just not feeling much like eating anymore.

Towards the end of the meal, Kirk shoved the bill over to his wife. "If you think I can't afford it, you pay for it."

"Don't be stupid, Kirk."

"Oh, what's the matter? No money? Maybe you should get a job instead of keeping your whiny head stuck up your ass."

"Kirk, do you know how hard it is to find a job?"

"Yes, yes indeed I do," he said firmly, leaving the table.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"Home. Good luck paying the bill!"

Luann frowned, throwing down her napkin onto the table. She started digging in her purse, but couldn't find more than a ten dollar bill. What was she going to do? She could call her sister to come help, but not only would that be embarrassing, she was tired of imposing on her sister so much.

She ended up finding herself even more humiliated by being told she would have to wash dishes to pay for their meal. As she and Milhouse stood up to follow the man into the kitchen, she noticed the Lovejoys out of the corner of her eye. Helen was looking over while whispering to her uninterested great, Luann thought. Just what I need. More humiliation. I am so sick of everything.

That night, Milhouse requested Kirk tell him a story instead. He did not think he could stomach one of his mother's stories. His father sat on his bed and smiled. "Once upon a time, there was Mama Bear, Papa Bear, and Baby Bear. . ."

"I know where this story is going! Baby Bear is what keeps Mama and Papa together, right? Because Mama and Papa fight so much 'cause Papa's a loser and Mama can't cook, but they stay together for Baby, right? Well, I think they should just get a divorce and make themselves happy!"

Kirk's eyes widened at his son's outburst. "Son, I was telling you Goldielocks and the Three Bears. . ."

"Oh," Milhouse sighed. "Sorry, continue."

Kirk could tell how distressed his son seemed, and he wished he could make it all better. "Maybe you should get some rest." He tucked Milhouse in, kissing his forehead.

"I just want everyone to be happy," the boy said quietly.

"So do I, son," Kirk said before turning off the light.

"See what you did, Luann?" Kirk said, walking into their bedroom. "Now you've got our son thinking we should divorce!"

"Oh, nonsense!"

"Maybe he's right."

"Don't be silly, Kirk. You know I can't trust you to pay child support!"

The child—maybe that truly was the only reason they were staying together.

Luann lay awake that night, unable to sleep. She was so tired of everything—the fighting, the money problems, the lack of love in the house. The only love she truly felt was with other men, and there was so many things wrong with that. Now, to top if it off, she was sure to be talked about all over town, thanks to Helen Lovejoy.

In the middle of the night, she tiptoed to the hall closet. She had emergency bags packed for her and Milhouse both, just in case. She was lucky her son was such a heavy sleeper; he did not wake as she got him out of bed and into the car.

However, Kirk awoke at the sound of the car starting up. He ran to the window, looking down at the driveway, seeing his wife driving away. He checked Milhouse's room, realizing what was going on, but just to be sure, he checked the hall closet, as well. Sure enough, the bags were gone. Also, there was a note.

Kirk—you guessed it. We left. I don't know to where nor for how long, but perhaps you will shape up by the time we're back. You said I can't cook anyway so you should be fine. ~Luann.

Kirk sighed. Was she crazy? She just stole away with their son in the middle of the night. The kid had school! Well, he planned to try his hardest to "shape up" as she put it. He was going to try his hardest to find a new job. He wanted to live up to her expectations.

Milhouse woke early, finding himself strapped in his car seat. He looked out the window, confused, not seeing anything familiar out.

"Uh . . . Where are we going?"

"Some place far away," Luann responded calmly, watching the road with tired eyes. "Just you and Mommy."

"Ahh!" Milhouse exclaimed, trying to unbuckle himself in a panic. "Let me out!"

"Oh, Milhouse, calm down," Luann laughed softly.

"I want to go home," the boy frowned.

"Do you really? Daddy can't do much for you."

"But we don't have any money at all! We'll starve!"

Luann had not really thought of that. "We can break into your savings account."

"Ahh!" Milhouse yelled again. "Mom, I have friends in Springfield. I don't want to leave!"

"Friends? You mean that foul mouthed Simpson boy?"

"Yes," he replied firmly. As much as his mother did not exactly approve of Bart, he would always be his friend.

"You can make better friends than that."

"No, I can't. It took eight years to build the bond Bart and I have. Just like it took however many years to create what you and Dad have!"

"Oh, you mean the living Hell hole?"

Milhouse sighed, looking down sadly. He did not think he was going to win.

At lunch at Springfield Elementary, Bart was already wishing he could go home. All the kids were making fun of him, and to top it off, his best friend had disappeared. He did not bother opening his lunch; he did not feel like eating. He was tired of girls pointing and giggling at him all because he had not had a date to the stupid dance on Friday night. He noticed the principal sitting alone, looking a bit distraught.

He went over and sat next to him. "What's the matter, Skin-rash?"

Skinner frowned. "As if you actually care."

"I do care. What gave you the impression that I don't care about things?" When the man looked at him with raised eyes, he added. "Don't answer that. Seriously, though, dude. Something's eating you! What's up?"

The principal sighed. "If you must know, Edna and I are not on great terms."

"Wow! Really? I thought you looked pretty happy Friday night."

"I thought so, too, but apparently dancing and, erm. . . . " the man tried to think of a nice way to put the next part.

"Doing gross things in a closet?"

Seymour blushed a bit, but cleared his throat. "Yes. Apparently doing those things does not mean . . . Well, anything." He sighed.

"Aw, that can't be right, Seymour. She adores you!"

"How do you know?"

"Well, the way she looks at you is enough to tell!"

"Looks can be deceiving, Simpson . . . She's a real trickster."

He remembered back, sadly, to Friday night. Everything had been going so well. They had a great time at the dance, and he drove her home to her apartment. He walked her to the door, and she surprised him with yet another spontaneous kiss that led them inside to her couch.

As they were engaging in such a passionate kiss, he kept his hands at her side. He said between kisses, "I love you, Edna."

Apparently that was a mistake for she said back, "Shut up," and continued kissing him.

As much as Seymour had been enjoying the kiss, he pushed her away gently, confused. "What? I don't understand."

"You don't understand the meaning of 'shut up'?" Edna laughed. "It means shut your mouth! On second thought, keep it open," she winked, pulling close to Seymour again, slipping her tongue inside his mouth.

This was killing Seymour. He loved this feeling so much, and he loved her so much, but knowing she did not love him back hurt. He forced himself to pull away and said sadly, "I just can't win, can I?"

"I don't know, I thought you were doing pretty well; you were about to get in my pants for the second time tonight," she smirked.

"Edna, you know what I mean," Seymour said firmly.

Edna bit her lip. "Seymour . . ." she said gently. "You lost a long time ago."

So that was it. Because she left him at the altar, he would never have another real chance, yet she would keep having relations with him.

"I see," he stood up and left her on the couch without another word.

Bart touched the principal's shoulder. "I'm feeling kind of lonely myself."

"How could you be lonely? There's tons of children around."

Bart laughed lightly. "Yeah, it would seem that way, but being the only loser at the dance without a date makes you the laughing stock of the whole school! And to top it off, my best friend got kidnapped."

"Kidnapped?!" Seymour said, alarmed.

"Well, kind of. I'm positive his mother drove off with him. His parents have been having problems. . . But hey," he said, getting an idea. "I can help you with Edna!"

"How?"

"I will think of something. Trust me."

"Trust you?"

"Yes. Mrs. K and I are close sometimes. I will get through to her! But you have to hold out on your end of the deal."

"What is my end?"

"You have to let me get away with playing a prank!"

"What prank?"

"Now, Seymour, I can't tell you that! I can't get the proper reaction if you know about it."

"Okay . . . but why?" The principal was very confused.

"I've got to win my image back, man! Can't have people thinking I'm a loser forever! That's your image." He laughed, seeing Skinner's scowl. "Kidding!"