Special thanks to Matt Groening, creator of The Simpsons, for not reading this and suing me.
Gosh, how do I start this? I could start with the very beginning, when I was in third grade and saw my first episode of The Simpsons… and hated it. Or maybe I could start with when I was in eighth grade and watched The Simpsons again… and loved it. Or maybe I should start an episode or two after that when I first saw Ned Flanders, the love of my life. Okay, I could do that, or I could pick up about ten years after that, when I got on the plane to Springfield, America. Oh yeah, let's start there. (In case you haven't realized yet, this book is about The Simpsons. But mostly Ned Flanders, their neighbor. And me.)
I was heading to a convention in Springfield one day. (Home of The Simpsons.) We were getting ready to land when the pilot came over the speakers.
"We're experiencing some slight turbulence, but we should be able to land safely. Please stay seated and do not move about the cabin."
So I got up and went to the bathroom. The slight turbulence shook the plane with such force, though, I fell to the floor, hitting my head, and passed out. I woke up a few minutes later and I followed everyone else off the plane.
I knew something was wrong as soon as I left the airport.
I was walking towards my hotel just a block away, when my suitcase hit a bump and fell. I stooped down to pick it up. As I reached to grab the handle, I stopped. Why is my hand yellow? Is the only thing that came to mind. I stood back up, and stared at my reflection in a store window. And screamed.
Now for the average person, if you saw your reflection and you were a yellow cartoon with bulging eyes and exaggerated features, you wouldn't know what was going on. However, for a Simpsons aficionado as myself, there's only one way to react.
"What the hell's going on?" Oh, that's how you'd react, too? Well, alright.
I stood there for a while and just stared. I was still in my pink tank top and denim shorts, but my hair had turned from its dirty blond to a platinum color. My lips were fuller, my eyes bigger, and my voice was way more annoying than usual. But you know, in a sexy way.
I looked around frantically for an explanation. Everywhere, everyone, was a cartoon. Then, as if on cue the Homer Simpson walked out of a bar and down the street, towards me.
Slowly things were beginning to reveal themselves. Somehow, between me hitting my head in the airplane and leaving the airport, the Springfield of the third dimension had become the Springfield of the second dimension. The Springfield of Homer Simpson. The Springfield of my forbidden love, Ned Flanders.