In which I find another reason to think that Sly and Doris were Bad Parents

As we are making the bed:

Primo: How do you do that again?

Me: A hospital corner?

Primo: Yes.

Me: Like this.

Primo: You are so much better at this than I am.

Me: Well I've been doing it since I was a little kid.

Primo: That explains it.

Me: Wait. When did you start making your bed?

Primo: College.

Me: WHAT?

Primo: What?

Me: You mean your mom MADE YOUR BED FOR YOU? UNTIL YOU WENT TO COLLEGE?

Primo: Yes.

Me: In. Cred. Ible.

Primo: I had to do other chores!

Me: Uh huh.

Primo: I had to help with the dishes.

Me: But your mom. Made your bed. Every. Morning.

Primo: Yes.

Me: That? Is pathetic.

In which I take a cooking class with some friends and the instructor tells us the cake we are making is perfect for when unexpected guests arrive and I ask why on earth would anyone want to encourage and reward that kind of behavior

Really - why would you reward people for showing up unexpectedly at your house?

I don't mind cooking and baking things to take to a sick friend, but I can drop stuff off and not have to socialize.

If the doorbell rings and I'm not expecting anyone, I ignore it.

Doesn't everyone?

In which Smithsonian magazine will not stop sending us stuff for Doris, even though Primo called them a year ago to tell them she had died and to remove her from their list and even though I have emailed them several times since then to tell them that she is still dead

Fw: Doris Smithsonian mailings - she is still dead (No subject)

golddigger

|

Tue 4:36 PM

smithsonian@customersvc.com

...

Doris has not come back from the dead. She is still dead. Still ashes. Still not ordering product. It is safe to say, I think, that she will never order from you again. If you wish to keep wasting money by sending your catalog to her at my address, that's up to you, but I do not buy stuff.

golddigger

---

From: golddigger
Sent: Thursday, April 7, 2016 11:36 AM
To: smithsonian@customersvc.com
Subject: FW: Doris Smithsonian mailings

 

Hi. Doris is still dead. :)

Please remove her from all your mailing lists.

golddigger

---

From: smithsonian@customersvc.com
To: gd@hotmail.com
Subject: RE: Doris subscription <<#2209211-#>>
Date: Wed, 28 Oct 2015 17:22:50 -0400

Thank you for contacting Smithsonian.
 
I'm happy to help you.

We're sorry to hear that you wish to cancel your subscription, however we have canceled your subscription as requested.
We are processing a refund of $39.00 for the unmailed issues. Please allow three to four weeks to receive the refund.  
Because our mailing labels are preprinted, you may receive one or two more issues. Please discard them or share them with a friend. Again, we are sorry that you are canceling and hope that you will consider ordering with us in the future.

We appreciate this opportunity to be of service.
Thank you for supporting Smithsonian.
 

--- Original Message ---
From: golddigger
Received: 10/24/15 6:32:06 PM EDT
To: "Smithsonian@customersvc.com"
Subject: Doris subscription

Please cancel Doris' subscription to Smithsonian magazine. She died in May.

You have her in your system now as
Doris
[golddigger's address, because of course they continued to send her stuff despite Primo's call and when Primo put in the address change for Sly and Doris to direct their mail to our house, although the water bill did not get sent to us because that cannot be forwarded, every single piece of junk mail has made it our way because they all get the address change notification.]

Thanks.

------ Please do not remove your unique tracking number! ------
<< #2209211-#>>

In which we attend my uncle's memorial service, which is a fish fry at the lake, and nobody starts a eulogy with the hesitant phrase, "He could be difficult," and I am not even the one who says that out loud - it is Primo

My uncle died. He was 81. We went to the memorial service, which was a fish fry at my aunt and uncle's lake place. There were about 150 people there. There was a ton of food - my cousins fried fish and got some BBQ and then of course people brought food.

The only formal aspect of the event, which lasted all afternoon (because it takes a while to eat all those rhubarb bars)(the event, not the formal part), was when my cousin's husband spoke, reading the stories that my eight cousins had written about their father.

Not one single story started with, "He could be difficult." Instead, they all mentioned what a happy person my uncle was and how much he loved his family.

It was what a memorial service should be.