Himself, bless him, called me up this afternoon and asked how I’d feel about going out to dinner. Let me think a minute…hmmm, someone else cooking my meal and cleaning up afterward and I don’t have to put out as a way of saying ‘Thank you for fixing one meal out of 365 days worth of meals and cleaning it up by leaving dirty dishes soaking ad infinitum in the sink until there’s a greasy grimy oil slick on top’? Okay, twist my arm! Obviously I wasn’t thinking because it is Friday night after all and no one in this town has anything better to do than go out to eat at our favorite restaurant. So after standing in a frigid vestibule while every asshat in the county poked their head in the door, gawked extensively at the line of us waiting to be seated all the while letting in artic air and being hacked upon by every snot-nosed child in a fifty mile radius, we scored a seat in the bar. Yahoo!
Mind you, we aren’t what you’d call great conversationalists…unless you count jokes about bodily functions or assorted loud, protracted expulsions emanating from either end of The Co-Defendants. No one, other than myself, will wax rhapsodic about 100% cotton or the latest Sam Worthington movie. Sigh. But I digress.
It was at this meal that Captain Studly, who is now going by the self-appointed moniker of His Awesomeness (I shit you not), my thirteen year old son and tower of all things cool and cerebral, held forth that he wanted to know about any and all illnesses that run in the family so he could ‘be prepared’. This kid was in the Boy Scouts for two whole years…looks like the deprogramming needs to be ramped up a notch or two. Anyway, it seemed a fair question and so began the arduous process of racking my brain for what I hoped wouldn’t amount to a laundry list of ailments worthy of a hypochondriac.
‘Well, there’s the hypertension and diabetes on your father’s side…and then there’s the insanity’, I replied. Without missing a beat he quipped, ‘I get that from you, huh Mom?’
Why you clever devil, you! Mama makes crazy look good!