Abigail

Abigail had selected the princess dress. It was freshly white with charming little flower buds, inspired by antique wallpaper prints, and complimented the tooled flowers on her short waisted sweater. The simplicity of the top built into an elaborate bottom, as if all of the whimsy of the dress had rolled downhill. It ballooned out from her hips like a petticoat, with textures of ruffle and lace, dotted with large yarn flowers in deep reds. The billowing garment stopped abruptly at the knee, like she had been topiarily pruned to be Alice sitting on top of a giant mushroom with the Caterpillar. The dress resembled a wedding cake in shape and design, and Abigail chose it because it reminded her of the tutu she refused to take off as a little girl, which would put her at ease for her appearance on Jeopardy.

She was worried it would all go to pieces when she first laid eyes on Alex Trebek. While filling out paperwork in a make shift corral of folding tables she saw a nest of producers and show runners begin to simmer, her throat tightened and she was sure the man had just come in. She gripped the edge of the table ready for her anxiety to explode when a production assistant cheerily plopped down and began Abigail's pre show interview. The PA's cheeks were ripe and high, her smile impossibly huge and whitened. "So, do you have any hobbies?"

Abigail had always wondered what her fact would be in the mid first round interview with Alex. You had so little time and if your story was going too long Alex was a master at politely cutting you off and moving on. But Abigail felt if her facts were too simple a nation of intellectuals would be judging her. She would be recognized at the farmer's market, and the book swap, and young people in rough organic clothing would look at her and think "It's the uninteresting poser girl that lost on Jeopardy on totally easy questions."

"Uh, I knit, and I like to bake. But I'd really prefer not to talk about that."

The PA had an uncanny ability to turn her brow down in displeasure, but keep the same smile plastered on her face. It was unsettling to Abigail. "Why not?"

"Well," Abigail fidgeted in her seat. "It's a little hipstery, isn't it? I mean, everyone started knitting. That's ok. I didn't invent knitting, I didn't even get into it until a knitting shop opened in my neighborhood so I guess I'm late to it. But I really love to do it, and I'm really good at it. And I cant show Alex something I've knitted to prove that I really am talented so I'd really rather just not mention it."

"It's okay, we find something for everyone to say. What do you bake?"

"I'd rather not say."

"Is it cupcakes?" The PA now had an air of confidentiality.

"Oh God!" Abigail was scandalized. "You cant say I bake cupcakes, it's such a cliche. I might as well tell a funny story about riding my fixie around Williamsburg."

"You ride a fixie?"

"No," Abigail said sadly. "I have a prewar 3 speed with giant fenders and a latticed dress guard and a giant grocery basket."

"Oh that's so much worse." The PA looked shamefully down at her notepad.

"His name is Phineas Pedalbuggy," she said sadly.

The PA tapped her pen on her notepad, then looked up cheerily. "You're married. Something funny always happens at the wedding, was there anything unusual about yours?"

Abigail had planned a tasteful and sedate wedding. There was a lone incursion of oddity. "I wore blue Chuck Taylor high tops during the ceremony. It is kindof a funny story why."

The PA grabbed Abigail's hands. "Okay! That's what we'll use. What happened?"

Abigail shook her head. "It's a very long and involved story."

The PA slumped. "Look, we have to use something. I'm writing "blue sneakers wedding" on this card and handing it to Alex. I'll leave it up to you what you tell him." She got up in a huff and went to the next contestant who looked like he surely had a whole championship run worth of concise and impeccable factoids.

Across the room the bustle began to thin out, and as the group parted there was Alex shuffling index cards. He was in his street clothes and he had a tan line from his sunglasses. He was shorter than she expected. He walked with a little hobble in his step. She waved when he looked up, and Alex waved back and went off to his dressing room to put on the sharp suit she was expecting to see, and the makeup she had never realized he wore. Abigail was soothed to realize she had believed wholly in the total inauthenticity of Alex Trebek for all these years. There may be hope for her yet.