Fine, World, You Win
It's been a grueling week and it's only Wednesday. Or maybe it's been a grueling month and I just now noticed. Anyway, I'm going up to my parents to be babied for the weekend. Let someone else worry about the important shit; I'm going to curl up in a little ball on the single bed in the room set aside for the littlest nephew and hide from the world for a couple of days.
At the least, this means that I can have our family's traditional birthday breakfast on Sunday of cake and ice cream.
Lest you all be under the mistaken impression that this trip to my parents is not without it's own set of aggravations, let me relate to you the conversation I just had on the phone with my dad [not word for word, but you'll get the gist].
Me: Hey, what's the weather going to be like up there?
The Reverend: High 70s, low 80s, why?
Me: I'm going to go ahead and take Friday off and come on up.
The Reverend: Why?
Me: Because I'm burnt out and I hate everyone.
The Reverend: What did you say? I couldn't hear you. I'm at the dentist.
Me: I'm burnt out.
The Reverend: Oh, okay. Well, your mom will write you a check for the gas.
Me: No, you don't have to do that. I've got it.
The Reverend: No, we want to.
Me: Sure, okay, fine.
The Reverend: But you're going to have to feed yourself on the road. We can't afford it. Maybe we can pack you a nice sandwich for the ride home, but . . .
Me: Dad, it's fine. I can pay for everything.
The Reverend: Don't be ridiculous. We've got the gas covered.
Me: Okay, then, thanks.
The Reverend: Okay, then I need to call your mom so we can cancel our plans.
Me: You have plans?
The Reverend: Ha, ha, ha. Of course not. Your mom was going to spray the grass, but otherwise I was just trying to make you feel bad.
Me: Um, okay, well, then I'll see you on Friday.
The Reverend: Friday it is.
The dentist must think my dad is nuts.
posted by Aunt B at 5/18/2005 11:49:00 AM
4 Comments:
Are you trying to say you'll not be posting the rest of the week? Because that's completely unacceptable. Birthday be damned. Ice cream be damned. If I have to sit here 9 hours a day, then you'll be posting, missy. Oh yes, you'll be posting.
Oh, and happy birthday. I made you a cake, but since you'll be gone, and since I don't know you, I'm going to eat it myself.
X's and O's - Jon
-Jon
Oh, I'll be posting. As long as there are strange old men like my dad who think that a day is not complete without a trip to Walmart, as long as my mom continues to go up to strangers and ask them if she's related to them, as long as I have to spend six hours in the car with a dog that thinks she can drive better than me and is constantly trying to see if I'm ready to give her the steering wheel, I'll be posting.
They might be the most lame, self-absorbed posts full of self-pity and whining that you've ever read on TCP (and that would be a high mark to reach, I know), but there will be posts.
And, I'm glad to read, lots of cake.
Well, along with my dad's insistance that you can make anything "Pennsylvania Dutch"-style by adding a cup of brown sugar (ask the Shill about the "Pennsylvania Dutch" lasagna he made her), he also claims that our Pennsylvania Dutch ancestors had a long tradition of eating dessert first, and breakfast is about as first as you can get, hence the reason we eat birthday cake for breakfast.
I should add that I have always thought this was another thing he was full of shit about, but my boss was recently raving about this Pennsylvania Dutch restaraunt he went to in--wait for it-- Pennsylvania, in which they served chocolate cake before the rest of the meal.
So, who knows? If this is true, maybe it'll turn out that you should indeed add brown sugar to everything and that meat can, with proper preparation, taste "like candy."
Oh to be a dentist in the Dutch country.
-Jon
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