Grievances

Summary: Mrs. Hagberg has a few complaints about her landladies and she doesn't beat around the bush.

A/N: Part III comes from a ficlet I wrote called Happy Birthday for JJ's b-day back in January.

There are tons of references to my other Mrs. Hagberg stories as well, so if you haven't read those I strongly recommend checking them out!

They are: Opposite of Adults, Those Damn Cheerleaders, Packrats, Married in Blue Always Be True, The Years Have Seemed Short (But the Days Go Slowly By), and Hootsy Bootsy and Dingbat Have a Baby.

For reference:

Chickenheads (plural) = Brittany and Santana
Chickenhead (singular) = Brynn

Mrs. Hagberg should've never moved in with two of her former students. That's just asking for trouble. She's been here maybe six months now and they're already driving her nuts. Sure, their offspring is cute, but even little baby Brynn isn't enough to keep her sane.

She's a patient woman - Lord knows she taught high school for forty years - but something about Brittany and Santana just bugs the crap out of her.

She hates them.

No, that's not right.

She hates that she loves them.

She loves them even though they're nymphomaniac freaks with codependency issues and dirty diapers up to their eyeballs.

Things have just been getting a little out of hand lately.

So she decides to make a list of grievances and sort it out with them. After all, she deserves a little peace and quiet after all the things they put her through.

She finds them in the kitchen both feeding Brynn, who is refusing to eat the carrots Brittany holds out and the peas Santana offers her as well.

Mrs. Hagberg loves this kid.

She's probably the pickiest, brattiest baby ever and all Mrs. Hagberg can think is karma.

"I'll do the airplane and you be the choo-choo train and she'll have to pick one," a desperate Brittany tells Santana.

"Works for me," Santana replies. "Chuga chuga chuga chuga chuga choo-choo!"

"If only the rest of those damn cheerleaders could see you now," Mrs. Hagberg interrupts.

Santana drops her spoon back into the baby food jar. "What do you want, Gaynell?"

Mrs. Hagberg sighs. "Why do you just assume I want something?"

"Because you always want something," Santana says. "I swear, it's like we have two kids. A six month old and the world's moodiest elderly teenager. For the last time, we're not giving you an allowance."

"I asked once," Mrs. Hagberg argues.

"If you want us to spoon feed you, the answer's no," Brittany says, tickling Brynn's chin with her finger.

"It's not about that either," Mrs. Hagberg huffs in annoyance. "I'd like to address a few problems I have living here. Since you two own this hunk of junk you call a house, I'm taking them up with you."

"This is worse than the time I found out the Barenaked Ladies were all dudes," Santana groans. "Okay, here's the deal, old woman. We'll hear you out if you promise to babysit tonight."

Mrs. Hagberg frowns. "That brings me to my first point…"

I. always asking me to babysit

She's been looking forward to this margarita all week since those nutjobs no longer let her keep alcohol in the house.

It's unbelievable.

Really, how was she supposed to know the maid would drink all her tequila?

And gin?

…And brandy?

Anyway, that's why they don't have a maid anymore.

Tonight though Hootsy Bootsy and Dingbat are taking their brat into the city to see… something. Mrs. Hagberg wasn't exactly paying attention when they were talking about their plans.

She's dragging the blender out of the cabinet when the terrible twosome walk in carrying Brynn.

"Oh, what are you making?" Brittany asks. She's dressed up much nicer than usual in an evening gown and a string of pearls. It's her first night out since giving birth and if Mrs. Hagberg cared, she'd actually compliment her on how good she looks.

"Marg - milkshakes."

Brittany, who still eats like a pregnant lady, but still looks like a supermodel, says, "Yum. I want one."

Santana stops behind Brittany, biting her lip in concentration while putting on her earrings. "Britt, we don't have time. Our taxi's waiting to take us to the theatre."

"Fine. Brynn, baby, be good for Mrs. Hagberg," Brittany coos.

What?

"Beg your pardon?" Mrs. Hagberg says.

Brittany must be mistaken because Mrs. Hagberg is supposed to have the house to herself.

"That's a terrible example! We asked you months in advance," Santana says. "Besides, it was our friend Rachel's Broadway debut."

She doesn't care. That's not the only time they've asked her to watch their child and now she has to do it again tonight.

"C'mon, you love Brynn."

Mrs. Hagberg crosses her arms. "I love when I'm not the one changing her diapers. Or feeding her. Or burping her. Or playing Pikachu with her."

"It's peek-a-boo."

"Then what the hell is Pikachu?"

"It's-" Santana begins. "Never mind."

"We'll try to ask less often," Brittany promises, "and remind you when you do agree because we know how tired your brain gets."

"That's all I ask. Moving on," Mrs. Hagberg continues.

II. always having sex

There's a lot of thudding coming from upstairs and it better not be what she thinks it is.

And in the middle of Pitbulls and Parolees, too.

She grabs the broom she's supposed to be using to sweep the porch and knocks its handle on the ceiling. "Cut it out!" she yells, jabbing almost hard enough to leave a hole. It's not her house, after all. "Or wait 'til I'm dead."

But the thudding only gets louder.

"Damn sex fiends."

"We were putting Brynn's crib together," Brittany explains.

"Putting a crib together, making another baby… Whatever you wanna call it," Mrs. Hagberg says gruffly.

"Baby number two is already on the way," Brittany teases, patting her stomach. She's kidding, of course, but -

"Wouldn't surprise me," Mrs. Hagberg replies.

"How many kids do you think we're gonna have?" Santana asks her out of curiosity.

"Dunno," Mrs. Hagberg shrugs. "Enough to get your own reality show on TLC, probably. 19 Brats and Counting."

Brittany's face pales. "19?"

"And counting," Mrs. Hagberg adds.

"One's good for now," Santana says quickly.

"One is great," Brittany agrees.

III. always breaking in my room

"Whoa, I think someone needs a new diapy."

"Don't look at me. I did the last one."

"Liar! I've changed the last three."

Mrs. Hagberg opens one eye. "I can hear you, you know."

Brittany and Santana exchange glances. "She's always so fussy whenever she wakes up from her naps," Santana comments.

"Yeah, but she's even crankier if she doesn't take one at all," Brittany replies.

"Don't you dingbats have a baby to take care of?" Mrs. Hagberg asks with a yawn. She's far too tired for their silly banter this afternoon. They were never really that amusing to begin with and moving in with them will go down in history as her worst decision since teaching driver's ed.

"Dingbats eat their young," Brittany says nonchalantly, to Mrs. Hagberg's horror. "I saw it on Animal Planet."

Santana pats her wife's hand. "I think those were hamsters, Britt."

"You damn cheerleaders are the only known dingbats on the face of the Earth," Mrs. Hagberg retorts. She hates when they come into her room – even though it's technically their house. She must've forgotten to lock her door. Either that or they broke in again.

"You would know since you're older than Death," Santana fires back.

Mrs. Hagberg groans. "What are you chickenheads doin' in here anyway?"

Brittany and Santana smile. "We came to wish you a happy birthday."

"Technically we aren't breaking in since your door doesn't have a lock," Brittany says after Mrs. Hagberg is finished telling her story.

"Well, why the hell not?" Mrs. Hagberg asks.

"In case you fall down, old woman," Santana replies. "Besides, you said you'd rather die than wear a Life Alert necklace. So we compromised. Remember?"

She doesn't. "Stay out of my room," she tells them.

Brittany frowns. "But we're in the kitchen."

IV. always smoking that reefer

It's funny.

The house smells a lot like that weird potpourri she bought in Amsterdam.

Well, whatever it is, it's stinking up the whole house. She follows her nose to Hootsy Bootsy and Dingbat's bathroom and jiggles the doorknob.

"Occupied," Brittany giggles from inside, sounding far too happy for a new mother.

It's then Mrs. Hagberg realizes what the smell is.

Reefer.

"Open up or I'll break it down," Mrs. Hagberg warns.

More giggles.

"Relax," Santana says, opening the door. "My parents are in town. They're taking the baby to Central Park."

"So you potheads thought you'd blaze up?" Mrs. Hagberg questions.

Santana coughs. "We haven't been sleeping very well."

"Like at all," Brittany adds.

"Of course you haven't!" Mrs. Hagberg snaps. "Babies don't care if you get eight hours a night or fifteen minutes. They're like teenagers, but worse."

"Worse than we were as teenagers or worse than regular people as teenagers?" Brittany asks.

"You made me reheat your leftovers because the microwave made you paranoid," Mrs. Hagberg recalls.

Santana sighs. "That was one time, Gaynell. We wanted to feel young again."

"Reefer won't make you young! If it did, everyone would smoke it. Even me," says Mrs. Hagberg, but even she knows there's no turning back time.

V. always being so damn obnoxiously cute

She's making arrangements before she dies.

Her earthly possessions include one margarita machine, a banged up Ford Taurus she had shipped from Ohio, and a bag of reefer she thought was potpourri for the longest time.

She has other garbage, too, but she's only giving away the sentimental shit.

She has no kids of her own and a nephew whose name she can't be bothered to remember, but she DOES have two former students who are kinda sorta family… In the sense that she absolutely cannot stand them.

When it's time, She'll leave the margarita machine to Hootsy Bootsy, the reefer to Dingbat, and the car to Chickenhead, who'd better turn out a better driver than both her mothers.

She's making all the arrangements so her family doesn't have to.

"Why are you complaining about this?" Santana interrupts.

"And how is this our fault?" Brittany asks.

"It's both your fault for making me like you so damn much," Mrs. Hagberg snaps. "And it's really annoying, okay?"

VI. always stealing my car and calling it "borrowing"

Speaking of annoying, her car is missing.

This is a quiet, peaceful neighborhood, despite Santana's claims that Brynn will know "the streets" like the back of her hand.

The key isn't on the hook, either.

That can only mean one thing: Brittany and Santana stole her car.

She calls Brittany on her cell phone since Dingbat is most likely driving.

"Hello?" Brittany answers.

"Where are you taking my Taurus?" Mrs. Hagberg asks.

"Brynn's running a fever so we're at the doctor."

"I have bowling tonight!"

"Then take a cab," Brittany replies. "I'll pay you back or something. I gotta go. I'm not supposed to be on the phone."

"When I got the car back, the tank was empty!" Mrs. Hagberg complains. "It's common courtesy to fill it up. Did you learn nothing from my driver's ed class?"

"I vaguely remember something about bears," Brittany says.

VII. always quoting something or other

"Santana, what lullaby should we sing tonight?"

"The usual, Britt."

"But we sang that the last five nights in a row."

"Well, I've been afraid of changing."

Brittany grins. "Cause I've built my life around you."

"But time makes you bolder, children get older, and I'm getting older, too."

Mrs. Hagberg stares at them. "What the hell are you two talking about?"

"Nothing," they reply.

"You never listened to Fleetwood Mac?" Brittany asks.

"I was more of a Zeppelin fan," Mrs. Hagberg says.

"Gaynell, I never knew you were such a badass," Santana tells her.

Mrs. Hagberg smiles sadly. "There's a lot you two don't know about me."

Brittany gets up and hugs her. "We still have plenty of time to learn," she says.

"Fine," Mrs. Hagberg says stubbornly, "but I got a few more complaints."

VIII. always charging too much rent

Every month she writes a check paid to the order of her crazy lesbian landladies.

"What? We never get any check," Santana interrupts yet again.

"I leave it on this counter," Mrs. Hagberg says. "This one right here."

Brittany shakes her head. "No, honey."

Puzzled, Mrs. Hagberg asks, "So who keeps cashing all my checks?"

Lord Tubbington meows.

They all turn to where he's perched on the couch.

"I want my money back," Mrs. Hagberg tells him.

IX. always having sex

Brittany blinks. "You said that already."

"Yeah, but for real this time," Mrs. Hagberg says. "I mean it. Stop."

"We'll wait until you're asleep. Deal?" Santana bargains, sticking out her hand.

Mrs. Hagberg shakes it. "Deal."

Santana stands up. "Okay, now that we've heard you out, you can finish feeding her. Your babysitting duties start now."

Mrs. Hagberg looks at Brynn, then at Lord Tubbington, then back at Brynn. "Don't leave me alone with them!"

"Too late," Brittany calls. "Oh, and we're taking your car. Hope you don't mind. See you in a few hours!"

Mrs. Hagberg can't help but smile.

For all her complaining, she really does love this little family.

God knows why.