I have a bunch of headcanons for how Stan and Francine met. One of them is where they’re both in college; Francine is rumored to sleep around and Stan’s buddies sometimes make remarks about how she looks. Stan, of course, plays along with the act, but he gives her the benefit of the doubt. He also doesn’t really care much. I mean, why would he? He doesn’t even know her, and although he does see her on campus sometimes with some guy, he’s unsure it’s actually this infamous Franny character until one of his friends confirms it.
Every time, though, he notices how pretty she is. Her blonde hair that seems to reflect sunlight as it sits idly down her back. The pale pink lipstick that she always had on on. The way her lips curl as she chuckles at a joke. Sometimes he feels jealous, envious even, that this certain guy is almost always with her. Maybe he’s her boyfriend? Who knows. He just wishes he could be confident enough to approach her regardless of if she’s with a guy or not.
None of the girls back in Stan’s hometown of Broadway were that pretty.
It’s a Friday night, and there’s a party. Stan goes with his group of friends, who are hyping him up. They want him to take a girl home. After all, he’s been single for so long, and hasn’t really come out of his shell as much as his buddies want him to.
They say, “We’re gonna get you laid, man!”
While Stan wouldn’t mind a one-night stand, he doesn’t really find it important. He put up a good front, though. He wouldn’t dare tell his bros how he didn’t take fondly to casual intimacy because of his past trauma with his church’s priest, or because his father left him at a young age, and his mother’s only form of dating advice was, “You can’t trust any of those girls, Stanford! They’ll break your heart!”
Regardless, he played along with his friends. After all, it was your usual locker room talk. After a couple of hours and quite a few beers, Stan sees a familiar face. She enters through the front door. Her bleach-blonde hair is teased and her makeup looks like it took hours. She’s wearing a black tank top and a skin-tight red skirt. She’s with the same guy she’s always with. Before Stan can even think of it, his friend leans over and says, “That’s Francine.” He watches them from afar, trying not to be obvious. As the night goes on, Stan notices that Francine begins to look irritated. Her boyfriend downs beer after beer, and is becoming more and more ornery. He is picking fights. When he starts approaching other women at the party, obviously flirting with them, Francine storms out of the house.
Stan points this out to his friend, who encourages him to follow her. After some hesitation, —and a little liquid courage— he pushes through the crowd and heads to the door after her.
He finds Francine sitting on the porch steps, a bottle of beer in one hand and a burning cigarette in another. The loud music from the party is muffled as the door shuts behind him. Francine glances over to him quickly, sighing in relief that he isn’t her boyfriend coming out after her. She assumes that Stan is just heading home or getting some fresh air, but is taken aback when he greets her with an awkward, “Hey…”
Francine replies with a “hi” and gets ready for the blatant flirting to begin. She was used to guys sweet-talking her when she was most vulnerable. Stan makes a clumsy comment about how her boyfriend was being a douchebag. He sits on the far side of the step opposite her.
Francine scoffs, “What else is new?”
She takes a drag off her cigarette and flicks it. Stan watches the tiny orange embers fly through the air and dissipate as they hit the ground. He continues:
“I know it’s none of my business, but I saw the way he was treating you... You shouldn’t have to deal with tha—“
Before he can console her any further, she cuts him off, “I should have known he’d do this! I never should have brought him here,” she takes another drag, her voice in the back of her throat as she speaks through the exhale, “It’s so typical of him. I beg him to come with me to a party, and then he treats it like a hall pass.”
Stan notices that Francine is tearing up. It brought him back to Earth. He always had this idea that Francine was just the pretty girl on campus, but now, as he sat watching her begin to cry, he saw someone completely different. He saw someone in pain. Her trust was broken by someone she loved. And here he was, sitting mere inches away from the girl he thought about more than he was proud to say.
Not having the words, Stan rubbed her back to comfort her.
Francine’s composure fell. She blinked, and the tears fell. She dropped her cigarette onto the grass below her feet. She sank into Stan, sobbing into his chest.
Stan sat wide-eyed. He hesitantly wrapped his arms around her. He knew he had to keep up the manly persona for her, but his mind and heart were racing.
What in the fuck is happening right now?
“I just don’t know what I did to deserve it...I’ve never been unfaithful to him,” Francine’s shoulders shook as she cried. Stan gave her a little squeeze. He was still speechless, so he opted to let her cry it out. He would later admit that it was nice to go from being strangers to hugging her for more than a brief moment.
“I guess I just don’t know how to pick ‘em,” Francine tried to joke, choking back a sob.
Stan was quick to correct her, “Hey, don’t talk like that. It’s not your fault that he’s a jerk. I mean, we can all get a little drunk once in a while, but come on. There’s no excuse for him to be acting like a dick…” He paused, “Especially to someone like you.”
Francine smiled, “Thank you…”
As she pulled away from Stan, she noticed she had stained his sweatshirt with mascara.
“Oh, shit. I’m sorry, Stan...” She said, suddenly self-conscious about her running makeup.
Stan looked down at his sweatshirt and laughed, “Are you kidding me? This things so old, I don’t—“ He paused. Meeting her gaze, he stammered, “How do you know my name?”
Stan watched her as she wiped her tears, smearing her makeup a little. Francine smiled, “You were in my Biology class last semester. You sat far in front of me. You were friends with that guy who always fell asleep during the lecture, right?”
Stan nodded slowly, “Yeah... How did I not know you were in that class?” He thought for sure he noticed her everywhere.
“I was always late, couldn’t wake up on time,” Francine was reaching into her black handbag, pulling out a small makeup mirror and wiping the smudged mascara from under her eyes, “I left early almost every time, too,” she chuckled, “I barely passed that class.”
Stan laughed with her. He was still baffled that he hadn’t noticed her. He paused for a moment. Francine snapped her makeup mirror shut and grabbed for her pack of cigarettes. She sniffled as she flicked her lighter.
Anxiety gripped at his chest. He wanted so badly to tell her to forget about this party and her asshole boyfriend. He just wanted to spend time with her, get to know her. He got butterflies in his stomach merely from being close to her. He didn’t even mind the way her cigarettes smelled. He was trying to think of the right words. Stan took in a deep breath and opened his mouth to speak when Francine suddenly turned to face him.
“ … Do you want to get out of here?” She asked.
Stan was surprised to say the least. All he could do was nod at her.
Francine smiled at Stan and stood up, holding her hand out to him, “Let’s go, then! I know a great place where we can get a bite to eat at this hour.”
Getting to his feet, Stan took her hand slowly and smiled back at her. He remembered that Francine’s boyfriend was still in the party. He gestured to the party going on behind the door, “Shouldn’t we do something about your guy?”
Francine let out an exasperated sigh and leaned over to grab her beer, “Hold on,” she said as she marched through the door.
Stan waited outside for a moment. He heard the faint sound of laughter mixed with yelling before Francine came back out. She held her hand out again, waiting for Stan to take it in his. Her nails were painted a glossy bright pink, “Okay, now I’m ready to go!”
“What did you say to him? Did he take it well?” Stan asked her as he took her hand and they began down the sidewalk.
Francine smiled and spoke matter-of-factly, “I didn’t say anything to him. I threw my beer in his face and walked out.”
Stan laughed, shocked, “Do you think he got the picture?”
Francine nodded and gave him a toothy, mischievous grin. She looked excited now — happy, even.
As the two walked down the street into the early morning hours, they both had no idea what was to come of their encounter. They would spend the rest of the night at a sub-par 24-hour diner talking about everything and nothing. The time would waste away as they got to know one another, and Stan would eventually offer Francine to crash at his apartment for the night. She would happily agree. Little did Stan know, the decisions he made on this particular night would be the greatest and most rewarding ones of his life.
