The Squeaky Clean Legacy By Professor Butters

Chapter 4.3: Who Wants Ten Kids?

Gree$ngs,  I'm  Professor-­‐-­‐well,  Bu5ers,  and  I'm  here  to  bring  you  the  next  chapter  of  the  Squeaky  Clean  Legacy  with  the  assistance  of  one  of  my  friends.  

As  you  can  imagine,  I  quickly  grew  $red  of  living  here.  But  I  would  need  a  placeholder.  I  immediately  thought  of  Abner  and  Vanessa  Goodytwoshoes,  who  have  been  living  in  the  Sim  Bin  with  newborn  twin  girls.  

Hello,  guys!  Goodbye,  guys!  I'll  be  off  of  the  computer  in  a  minute!  

Aren't  they  great  parents?  Sheesh.  

OK,  ou5a  here.  Don't  take  any  wooden  nickels,  and  keep  the  babies  off  the  ground.  

Much,  much  be5er.  Nicer  decor,  piano,  stained  glass.  .  .  

Big  stucco  house-­‐-­‐that's  Edith  Goodytwoshoes.  She's  married  to  one  of  my  Legacy  spares  and  is  probably  trying  to  kiss  up.  No,  I  can't  get  your  husband  Mor$mer  a  job  in  the  Legacy  again.  And  I  bet  if  you  asked  him  he'd  say  he  doesn't  want  one.  He's  enjoying  life  as  a  spare.  

Stephen  Stotch  trying  to  corrupt  my  cats,  Burt  and  Dizz.  .  .  

Got  a  job-­‐-­‐now  for  the  next  item  of  business.  

Nope.  

When  I  pay  for  something,  I  do  not  expect  to  get  the  same  unacceptable  item  twice.  Try  again.  

Publius  Numan$us,  from  Blite27's  Ten  Caesars  Legacy.  GeYng  warmer.  Bye,  Publius,  and  remember-­‐-­‐a  date's  not  lame  if  it  never  gets  started,  OK?  

There  was  something  I  had  to  do,  and  I  thought  it  would  require  a  bit  of  explaining.  What  I  didn't  expect  was  this-­‐-­‐  

Flavius  Marius:  PROFESSOR  BUTTERS!  Save  meeeee!  -­‐-­‐Yeesh,  Flavius,  will  you  hold  your  horses?    Flavius:  But  we're  married!  -­‐-­‐In  Blite's  Legacy,  not  here!  For  heaven's  sake,  I  hardly  even  know  you!  Flavius:  Where  is  everybody?  Where's  Drusus?  Where's  my  homicidal  aunt  Renee?  Where's  narrator  guy?  Where's  Publius?  -­‐-­‐Drusus  is  running  around  somewhere,  your  aunt  Renee  is  ac$ng  as  a  freelance  death  consultant,  but  she  doesn't  know  you're  here  yet.  "Narrator  guy"  was  last  seen  buying  toys,  and  your  cousin  Publius,  um,  just  le`.  

PB:  See,  Flavius,  I'm  worried  about  you.  Over  in  Blite's  Legacy,  you  don't  stand  a  chance.  You're  like  a  guppy  in  a  tank  of  piranhas.  It's  only  a  ma5er  of  $me  before  someone  feeds  you  a  poisoned  mushroom  to  get  you  out  of  the  way.  .  .  

Flavius:  This  isn't  mushroom  pizza,  is  it?  

PB:  See,  I'm  an  Arts  and  Humani$es  type,  and  I  know  the  book  Ben's  basing  his  legacy  on.  You  could  be  in  real  trouble.  Are  you  processing  this?  

Flavius:  Hmmm?  Oh,  yeah!  I  got  it.  

PB:  So  you  can  hide  out  here  if  you  want  to.  I'm  pre5y  powerful  around  here  and  I'm  on  the  crime  track-­‐-­‐they  aren't  going  to  touch  me.  Do  you  like  the  idea?  

I  thought  you  might.  

Burton:  Roman,  go  home.  We  got  here  first.  

(with  apologies  to  Life  of  Brian)  

PB:  So  the  first  thing  I  suggest  you  do  is  get  a  job.  You're  Popularity,  you  want  to  be  a  Hall  of  Famer,  easier  than  being  Mayor,  anyhow.  So  head  on  over  to  the  computer.  

Focus,  Flavius,  you're  job  hun$ng,  ok?  

I  said  focus!  

Oh,  for  crying  out  loud.  You  really  are  much  too  op$mis$c,  you  know  that?  Get  out  of  that  stupid  llama  oudit  and  come  downstairs.  I  want  to  make  sure  you  really  understand  what's  going  on.  

OK,  let  me  explain  this  again.  You  are  in  danger  over  there,  you  are  a  refugee  here.  

You  can  hang  out  here.  All  I'm  asking  is  that  you  help  to  co-­‐host  this  next  chapter.  You  think  you've  got  it  now?  

Flavius:  Uh-­‐huh.  Think  so.  

I'm  here  as  a  pet,  right?  

PB:  Um,  yeah.  That's  it.  

Huh?  Publius,  I  thought  you  said  that  was  a  lame  date.  Why  are  you  calling?  

No,  I  can't  go  out  with  you  because  your  dorky  cousin  thinks  we're  prac$cally  engaged  now.  If  I  throw  him  out,  he'll  be  kicking  over  my  garbage  can  forever.  

Besides,  I  just  can't  bring  myself  to  do  it.  I've  become.  .  .Squeaky  Clean!  

Yeah,  sure,  Sim  Self,  make  excuses  all  you  like.  Some  simselves  live  with  pirates,  some  are  gone  on  Don  the  Zombie-­‐-­‐mine  seems  to  have  a  thing  for  the  Dorkiest  Roman  of  Them  All.  And  before  you  go  saying  that's  weird,  ask  yourself-­‐-­‐how  many  simselves  have  been  with  Gage  Uglacy  by  now?  I  rest  my  case.  Look  on  the  bright  side.  There's  no  ques$on  as  to  who'll  wear  the  pants.  Flavius  doesn't  even  own  pants.  And  this  was  all  his  idea.  Give  him  credit,  because  he  doesn't  get  too  many  of  those.  

OK,  Flavius,  you're  on.  Explain  the  rules  of  the  Squeaky  Clean  Legacy.  

Just  read  the  text  off  the  prompter.  

Flavius:  The  rules  say  that  only  girls  inherit,  and  they  have  to  be  really,  really  well-­‐behaved.  Heirs  can't  WooHoo  outside  of  marriage,  and  they  have  to  Try  For  Baby.  No  room  for  baby,  no  Try  For  Baby,  no  WooHoo.  Wow,  sure  glad  I  didn't  sign  up  for  that  one,  huh?  

He's  got  that  right,  folks.  When  we  last  le`  the  Squeaky  Clean  Legacy,  the  heiress  Daisie  Mae  had  just  had  twin  girls,  Delighdul  and  Moonbeam,  producing  an  heir  and  a  spare  and  absolving  her  from  "marital  du$es"  for  the  rest  of  her  adult  life.  

Her  husband,  the  former  Remington  Harris,  did  not  appear  to  be  very  happy  about  this,  but  the  house  is  packed  with.  .  .  the  founder's  husband,  Shane;  their  son  Earthquake;  their  son  Ralph;  the  twin  girls;  their  cats  Darling  and  Thay,  and  a  ki5en  on  the  way.  No  room  for  babies,  no  WooHoo.    I  held  out  the  hope  that  he  might  be  allowed  to  Try  For  Baby  to  hit  the  Impossible  Want  of  Ten  Children,  since  they  have  one  son  in  college  and  another  who  tragically  died  of  a  mysterious  disease.  And  now  it  all  hangs  on  what  Remington  rolls.  If  he  rolls  that  Impossible  Want,  it's  elixir  for  them  and  a  lot  of  caffeine  for  me.  

Ah,  this  would  be  the  mysterious-­‐disease  kid,  Tiny,  a  vic$m  of  his  mother's  Simsanto  Science  sta$on.  

Tiny:  Howdy,  Gramps!  Be  seein'  ya  soon!  

Poor  Daisie  Mae-­‐-­‐no  wonder  she's  thinking  about  po5y  training  in  her  sleep;  it's  about  to  start  all  over  again.  

Make  that  two  ki5ens,  a  boy,  Sugarcane,  and  a  girl,  Sweetheart.  So  now  we  have  four  cats  and  seven  people  in  a  tooth-­‐achingly  pink  house.  

Who  do  you  think  Shane's  talking  to?  That's  right-­‐-­‐my  simself.  No  way,  Shane,  not  even  in  your  palmy  days-­‐-­‐no  way.  Much  less  now  that  you've  got  one  foot  in  the  grave.  

I  was  trying  to  figure  out  who  on  earth  Shane  was  dreaming  about,  when  I  realized  that  he  was  dreaming  of  his  palmy  days.  Oh,  to  be  young  again.  

First  picture  of  Moonbeam.  She  may  turn  out  to  be  cute!  Hard  to  tell  what  the  face  is  going  to  be  like,  but  another  blue-­‐eyed  blonde  like  Grandma  and  Daddy.  Just  to  make  things  confusing,  Remington  has  dyed  his  hair  brown  and  Daisie  Mae  has  dyed  hers  blonde,  but  you  can  tell  it's  not  her  natural  hair  color  if  you  look  at  her  eyebrows.  

And  of  course  Grandpa  adores  li5le  Delighdul,  who  looks  as  though  she's  going  to  look  like  him:  jet  black  hair  and  huge,  huge  lips.  Oh,  well.  

Remington,  you  missed  the  party.  As  in,  totally.  It's  over.  

But  there's  s$ll  $me  to  max  your  body  skill.  So  close  to  your  LTW  of  Captain  Hero.  

Whoops.  Sorry.  Your  so-­‐called  "friends"  decided  to  stop  being  your  friends  five  whole  minutes  before  you  were  promoted.  And  now  there's  two  days  before  you  go  to  work  again.  If  we  had  a  cowplant,  I'd  be  up  for  invi$ng  them  over,  but  it  wouldn't  help.  

Earthquake  grows  up,  he's  fat,  he's  off  to  college.  At  least  he's  maxed  Crea$vity.  To  me  he  looks  pre5y  much  like  every  other  male  Goodytwoshoes  except  for  his  brother  Joe,  so  there's  no  thrill  there.  

Genera$on  three  of  the  cats.  This  is  the  male,  Sugarcane.  .  .  

And  here's  the  female,  Sweetheart.  This  is  what  you  get  when  you  breed  an  all-­‐white  Angora  to  a  tuxedo  cat  and  the  resul$ng  ki5en  to  a  Birman.  We  can  only  keep  one,  and  it's  hard  to  pick.  Sweetheart  is  cuter,  I  think,  but  the  kids  all  love  Sugarcane.  

Shane,  you  old  scoundrel.  How  you  doin'?  

Yes,  of  course  I'm  willing  to  try  and  make  an  old  man  happy.  Horribly  enough,  my  simself  has  two  bolts  with  him  and  with  Remington.  Hey,  listen  up,  simself-­‐-­‐unless  you  want  to  have  seven-­‐plus  kids  and  stretch  marks  you  could  hide  a  Volkswagen  in,  you'll  give  the  Family  Sim  guys  a  wide  berth.  

Hooray,  Remington,  you  did  it!  You  made  Captain  Hero!  So  what's  your  new  LTW?  

Remington:  To  raise  twenty  puppies  and  ki5ens!  

No  freakin'  way.  

Birthday  $me  again.  

Delighdul:  Hooray,  hooray!  I'm  Delighdul!    

Whatever  you  say,  kid.  

Linda  Stotch  and  Chrissy  Stra5on  have  been  invited  because  they're  Remington's  friends,  but  I  have  to  watch  them.  They're  not  above  a  li5le  husband-­‐stealing-­‐-­‐at  least,  I  don't  think  Chrissy  is-­‐-­‐so  we've  go5en  the  bubble  blower  to  distract  them.  

And  this  is  Moonbeam,  who  didn't  make  it  to  the  cake.  She  grew  up  pla$num,  yes,  but  also  prac$cally  asleep  on  her  feet.  I  suspect  that  she  may  grow  up  to  be  pre5y.  We'll  see.  

So  tuckered  out  that  she  has  a  wonderful  party  in  her  sleep.  

Ralph  grows  up  Knowledge-­‐-­‐max  Seven  skills-­‐-­‐and  immediately  starts  working  on  geYng  them  all  in,  becoming  an  overachiever,  and  geYng  himself  abducted  by  aliens.  

Remington  gives  him  cleaning  lessons.  

Remington:  Now,  son,  you  watch  out  for  that  Simsanto  Sta$on.  

Ralph:  DUH,  Dad,  I'm  just  scanning  it  for  prints.  

Wonder  what  he  finds?  Daisie  Mae?  Renee?  Me?  We  all  had  a  hand  in  Tiny's  death.  

Shane  is  geYng  really  really  really  old.  He  could  go  any  minute,  and  I'm  trying  to  keep  him  $dy  for  the  occasion.  The  toy  store  is  almost  ready  to  pass  along:  Remington's  earned  his  silver  toymaking  badge  now  and  has  had  almost  all  the  business  perks  passed  along-­‐-­‐at  least  the  ones  that  Shane  had.    The  business  teeters  from  level  two  to  three  to  back  again,  and  it's  partly  because  of  the  gold  sales  badge  employees.  They  hard  sell  and  $ck  off  customers.  Remington,  with  a  whopping  one  Charisma  point  and  no  sales  badge,  is  actually  doing  be5er  by  simply  doing  a  basic  sell  and  showing  customers  items  they're  already  looking  at.  

Daisie  Mae's  switched  over  to  the  Paranormal  field,  so  now  we  have  a  bone  phone.    

Remington:  Rrrrowl.  Love  the  new  work  uniform.  

Oh,  don't  worry.  I'm  sure  you  can't  get  pregnant  anymore,  right?  

Um,  I  mean-­‐-­‐I'm  prac$cally  sure.  Remington,  admit  it-­‐-­‐you  like  geYng  your  poor  Knowledge  Sim  wife  knocked  up.  Over  and  over!  Remington:  Well,  yeah.  Then  she  stays  home  and  pays  a  li5le  a5en$on  to  me,  when  she  isn't  talking  to  the  mirror.  Don't  take  it  personally.  She's  trying  to  max  Charisma,  the  only  skill  she  hasn't  maxed  already.  

Daisie  Mae:  Dang  elixir.  

Hmm.  How  many  ways  can  you  say  "this  is  not  a  good  $me?"  We're  back  with  the  darned  headmaster-­‐private  school  thing  again.  Daisie  Mae's  the  best  cook,  but  she  also  has  the  most  charisma,  so  I  assign  her  to  the  tour.  The  girls  come  back  from  school  all  stressed  out  from  lack  of  fun,and  they  both  brought  li5le  school  friends,  so  I  make  Shane  volunteer  to  make  pork  chops.  And  that,  of  course,  is  exactly  when  Grim  comes  a-­‐knockin'.  

Daisie  Mae  sobs  hysterically  throughout  the  tour.  Remington  finishes  up  the  pork  chops.  I  wish  I  could  say  that  he  was  distracted  by  Shane's  death,  but  actually  it  was  a  pet  brick,  and  he  burned  them.  The  girls  got  in  by  the  skin  of  their  teeth,  but  they  got  in.  

The  hulas  don't  come,  but  Shane  gets  a  pla$num  urn.  

Flavius:  Wow.  So  there's  go5a  be  a  lot  of  ghosts  over  there  by  now,  right?  

Well,  there's  three.  Luckily  Ralph  is  a  Knowledge  Sim  and  enjoys  seeing  them  while  he's  out  watching  for  aliens  by  the  crypt.  

Tiny:  Ooga-­‐booga,  Mom!  Take  that!  

You  know  what's  sad?  Dying  in  your  good  suit  and  then  floa$ng  around  in  this  hideous  polo  shirt  for  all  eternity.  

Daisie  Mae's  been  pregnant  so  many  $mes-­‐-­‐and  she's  pregnant  again-­‐-­‐that  we're  both  sick  to  death  of  the  Maxis  default  clothes.  With  a  li5le  hack  from  Squinge  and  a  nice  retro  dress  from  all-­‐about-­‐style,  we've  got  some  decent  maternity  wear,  finally.  

Ralph  maxes  Logic  while  s$ll  wearing  his  Weiner  World  uniform.  

Shane:  Great  job!  Ooga-­‐booga!  

Purple  Bunny,  who  writes  the  Pira$cal  Legacy,  stops  by  to  talk  to  Moonbeam.    Purple  Bunny:  The  expansion  pack's  supposed  to  be  out  in  a  week  or  two.  Moonbeam:  Oh  boy  oh  boy!  

Purple  Bunny's  not  the  only  simself  in  town.  A  lot  of  them  can  be  seen  at  the  Crypt  o'  Night  Club,  like  Renee-­‐-­‐  Renee:  Hey,  even  a  death  consultant  has  to  unwind  some$mes.  When  there's  too  many  kids  in  a  house,  they're  glad  to  see  me  coming.  

And  Ephemeral  Toast,  the  author  of  Apocalypso  A  Go  Go.  

"Pinball?  'Juice?'  Couches  to  jump  on?  Sign  me  up!"  

Let's  hope  she's  not  drinking  to  forget  the  Gage  Bachelor  Challenge.  

Daisie  Mae,  what  do  you  think  you're  doing?  You  had  twin  newborns  a  few  hours  ago.  You're  on  leave.  Daisie  Mae:  Remington's  home.  They're  his  babies.  And  if  I  don't  get  to  go  to  work,  I  think  I'll  scream.  This  li5le  autonymous  going  to  work  thing  speaks  volumes  about  Daisie  Mae's  boredom  with  motherhood.  Her  mother  Rosie  would  never  have  gone  to  work  if  there  were  babies  at  home.  In  fact,  she  didn't  go  to  work  when  I  insisted  several  $mes  and  finally  got  fired.  Night  and  day.  

Rosie:  Waah!  What,  are  you  worried  that  they've  forgo5en  you?  Rosie:  Nooo!  My  daughter  doesn't  adore  babies!  Well,  you  were  a  Family  Sim.  She's  a  Knowledge  Sim.  She's  doing  the  best  she  can-­‐-­‐cut  her  some  slack.  

Daisie  Mae:  Augggh!  Tiny!  I  confess!  I  knew  the  Science  Sta$on  was  dangerous!-­‐-­‐oooh,  a  ghost.  That  is  so  cool.  Seriously,  I  wouldn't  touch  the  Science  Sta$on  again  if  you  paid  me.  The  thing's  a  deathtrap-­‐-­‐fine  if  you  want  someone  to  die,  and  fine  to  collect,  but  not  to  use.  

Ahah!  A  Roman  at  the  family  toy  store!  Cave  canem  and  caveat  emptor!  Looking  closer,  it's  Drusus  Nero,  a  nice  Family  Sim.  Hmmmm.  Will  he  buy  some  toys?  

Looks  like  it!  The  business  is  doing  a  bit  be5er  now  that  Remington  doesn't  bother  to  call  in  the  employees  very  o`en.  Up  to  level  four  and  coun$ng.  Of  course,  none  of  that  helps  if  someone  stupid-­‐-­‐Lisa  Ramirez,  not  to  name  names-­‐-­‐decides  to  come  in  and  play  with  her  cat  right  in  front  of  the  register  so  the  customers  can't  be  checked  out.  On  the  other  hand,  she  was  stupid  enough  to  come  to  the  house  uninvited  and  to  buy  both  second  genera$on  cats  for  over  6,000,  so  we're  not  complaining.  Wonder  how  Checo  liked  that.  

Yet  another  birthday,  and  I've  wangled  an  invite.  That's  Joe,  Tiny's  twin,  in  the  background.  

Sunny  here  looks  as  though  she's  about  to  burst  into  a  medley  of  show  tunes.  

Remember,  sweetheart,  it's  "Remington."  Rem-­‐ing-­‐ton.  

Oh,  go  ahead,  buy  two  more  cakes.  Let's  grow  Delighdul  and  Moonbeam  up  too.  

Moonbeam:  Voooo  Gerbits!  

One  blond  Popularity  Sim  comin'  right  up!  LTW-­‐-­‐have  twenty  simultaneous  Pet  best  friends.  Enough  with  the  Pet  wants,  people.  

And  Delighdul  rolls.  .  .  Romance.  Celebrity  Chef.  Possible.  Moonbeam:  All  right,  sis!  We're  gonna  tear  this  place  apart!  They're  right-­‐-­‐there's  never  been  a  Romance  or  a  Popularity  Goodytwoshoes  before.  Can  you  be  a  Goodytwoshoes  and  s$ll  be  a  Romance  Sim?  Don't  tell  Delighdul  about  the  no  WooHoo  rule  yet.  Let  her  enjoy  being  a  teenager  for  a  while.  

And  with  eight  count  em  eight  kids,  Remington  rolls  the  want  for  ten.    Houston  to  Mission  Control-­‐-­‐ten  kids  is  a  go.  I  repeat,  a  go.  Rolling!  Daisie  Mae:  Can't  he  have  them  for  a  change?  Hey,  I'm  just  happy  that  we  have  four  girls  now.  Plenty  to  choose  from.  

Remington:  Shake,  Sweetheart!  I  couldn't  give  up  either  Sweetheart  or  Sugarcane.  They're  both  too  cute  and  everybody  rolls  wants  for  them.  So  they're  both  being  trained  as  the  next  Petacy  heir.  Sugarcane  was  fired  because  of  a  bad  chance  card  and  was  in  the  red  for  a  while.  I  had  to  wake  up  Remington  to  go  play  with  the  cat  so  he  wouldn't  run  away  from  home.  By  the  way-­‐-­‐cats  with  jobs;  what  kind  of  sicko  came  up  with  that  idea?  

Back  at  Maison  Bu5ers,  a  party  is  in  progress,  strictly  to  make  Flavius  happy.  SimMe  doesn't  like  par$es  and  as  a  player  I  despise  them.  But  two  bolt  chemistry  makes  it  a  piece  of  cake  to  get  Remington  over  there  and  to  manipulate  him  into  singing  karaoke  $ll  he  drops.  I  hope  he's  not  having  a  midlife  crisis.  

Flavius:  So,  Remington,  I've  been  on  one  date,  how  about  you?  Remington:  Hmmm.  Yeah,  I  think  so.  Maybe-­‐-­‐um,  two?  Twenty  years  ago?  This  was  sad  enough  that  I  tweaked  Remington  and  Daisie  Mae's  turnons.  They're  up  to  three  bolt  chemistry  from  one  and  now  they're  chasing  each  other  around  the  house  telling  each  other  dirty  jokes.  Second  honeymoon,  I  guess-­‐-­‐they  didn't  have  much  of  a  first  one.  

Hey,  Flavius,  enjoy  your  party?  Flavius:  Yeah!  This  is  so  way  be5er  than  ancient  Rome!  He  is  doing  pre5y  well  here.  I'd  swear  that  he  brought  over  his  own  bizarre  nega$ve  charisma  and  the  dog-­‐eat-­‐dog  stuff  from  Blite's  Legacy.  So  far  he's  autonymously-­‐-­‐  -­‐-­‐  jumped  my  simself  (who  seemed  to  like  it)  -­‐-­‐went  to  say  "what's  this?"  about  the  same  lamppost  all  the  Patricians  are  hung  up  on  -­‐-­‐stolen  my  poor  nice  Legacy  spare's  Lobster  Thermidor.  Twice.  Hey  Flavius,  just  because  everyone's  be5er  behaved  here  doesn't  mean  you  can  be  a  bully!  

Sunny,  I'm  afraid  things  are  too  busy  and  chao$c  for  a  party.  Please  grow  up  now.  Sunny:  OK.  

You  too,  Wolf  Gal.  Wolf  Gal:  What  kind  of  name  is  that?  Like  the  other  names  so  far,  mostly  from  the  comic  strip  Li'l  Abner.  Hey,  it  works.  Your  Dad  is  addicted  to  pork  chops,  just  like  the  hero.  In  fact,  he  set  fire  to  the  kitchen  with  them.  Twice.  

Oh,  my  gosh,  honey,  run!  Ralph's  on  his  way  to  college!  Having  go5en  to  eight  or  be5er  on  most  of  his  skills  and  tryed  for  alien  abduc$on  for  more  than  a  week,  it's  about  $me.  Ralph  and  his  brother  Earthquake  are  going  to  build  a  Greek  House  from  scratch,  or  maybe  they'll  wait  for  the  girls;  because  it  looks  as  though  we've  got  enough  girl  Goodytwoshoes  for  a  whole  sorority.  

Whatcha  wri$n',  Daisie  Mae?  My  magnum  opus.  It's  a  novel  about  a  young  and  brilliant  woman  who  marries  her  maid  and  has  to  put  aside  many  of  her  dreams  in  order  to  raise  the  ten  kids  he  wants  to  have.  The  maid  becomes  a  superhero  cop,  but  a  cop  is  s$ll  a  cop.  Then,  well  into  the  marriage,  they  rediscover  passion-­‐-­‐something  they've  never  really  known  with  each  other.  Autobiographical?  Yes-­‐-­‐that  and  inspira$onal.  I  want  women  the  world  over  to  know  that  you  can  breathe  passion  back  into  a  lukewarm  marriage.  The  frilly  maid  uniform  helps.  On  him,  I  mean.  Whatever  keeps  you  pla$num,  Daisie  Mae.    

Well,  it  was  a  bestseller!  Congrats!  

Moonbeam:  Don't  listen  to  Mom,  Sunny.  Life's  not  about  skilling  $ll  you  fall  over.  It's  all  about  having  lots  and  lots  of  friends!  Especially  pet  friends!  Sunny:  Wow,  really?  Look  at  you.  You  look  like  Barbie  n'  Stacy  and  you  live  in  a  house  that  looks  as  though  it  were  designed  by  Waylon  Smithers.  I'd  say  yes.  

Remington:  Whoo!  Ten  kids!  All  riiight!  Li5le  Grace  and  Charity  are  born  and  the  family  is  so  excited  to  see  them  that  Remington,  the  babies,  and  Daisie  Mae  are  trapped  in  a  corner  of  the  room!  

Daisie  Mae:  Yes.  Ten  kids.  Are  you  sa$sfied  now,  you  sadist?  

Yes.  And  soon  it  will  be  college  for  all  of  them.  You'll  want  all  your  daughters  to  have  an  educa$on,  right?  So  there's  a  lot  of  skilling  ahead  of  us.  Meanwhile,  can  Remington  get  the  business  up  a  few  notches?  Can  he  earn  that  toymaker's  badge?  How  are  Hopeful  and  her  ex-­‐vampire  husband  doing?  Is  my  Simself  really  Squeaky  Clean?  The  answers,  at  least  some  of  them,  in  a  new  Squeaky  Clean  Legacy!