In which I wonder what to write from now on, as Sly and Doris are dead (although the estate still is not settled and continues to present challenges) and as Ted has quieted down some, which makes us nervously happy but also scared because when will the next shoe drop?

So yeah.

There's the draft of the book I wrote, where I fictionalized events because really, nobody wants to read a story where there is not some kind of either redemption (happy!) or comeuppance (even happier for the people watching for the comeuppance). (Think "House of Cards" - I hate every character on the show, but I watch because I want to see them get what's coming to them.)

I sent query letters to agents but either I stink at writing query letters or my first pages were not compelling.

But you know what? I don't think I am a novelist. I am not a plot person. My friend Jeff Abbott is brilliant at plotting. AND he gets to incorporate what he studied in college! He was an English and history major and one of his books has all this stuff about Russia and the Cold War. He mentioned one of his history professors in the acknowledgments, which was really cool.

I am not about plot. I can't make plot up. I don't think I am good at sustained narrative where you start with The Protagonist Wanting Something She Can't Get (i.e., a good relationship with Sly and Doris) and then Overcoming Obstacles and Going Underground For Three Days to Overcome Her Tragic Flaws only to Emerge Triumphant.

I think I am better at short scenes and that's what I like and I just have to figure out how to get that kind of thing published. (Published somewhere besides here, I mean.)

The other thing is that Primo is running for office again. He has a chance to win this time, which would be cool.

I am not interested in being part of the political world myself, but I will gladly grab the popcorn and listen to all his stories about the politics of politics. (It's SO DIRTY, Y'ALL. SO DIRTY. BUT SO FASCINATING.)

So maybe I'll write about that. On verra.

Ch 12 Primo gives me the best wedding present ever and nope, it’s not a trip to Paris or a diamond bracelet or anything else you might think of

Primo helps Sly and Doris to bed. My mom, who is not drunk, is able to get to bed by herself. Primo and I use the guest bath to brush our teeth. I do not want to use our bathroom – the bathroom Sly and Doris have been using – until I can give it a good cleaning with bleach.

Is that irrational? I don’t think so.

Not to be too explicit, but it appears that Sly does not adopt the practice of sitting on the toilet when he is at someone else’s house. Older men, older men plumbing problems, older men dripping in places. Ick. I don’t want his cooties.

We pull out the sofa bed. Put the sheet of plywood under the thin mattress so there will be some back support. Smooth the old cotton sheets Primo has been using for years. The throw pillows are still in the window where we put them last night before so the sun wouldn’t wake us at the crack of dawn, but we discovered this morning that the sun is not the problem. Noisy Sly and Doris are the problem.

We collapse.

Primo: That was fun.

Me: I know.

Primo: Except for my mom and dad getting drunk.

Me: Getting drunk and then driving your car to the restaurant! Yeah, that was super smart. We should have seen that coming.

Primo: I know. I was so distracted by – you know – OUR WEDDING – that I wasn’t thinking.

Me: Me neither.

Primo: The sad thing is, I know my dad does that kind of thing all the time. I know he doesn’t forego his 4:00 drink when they go out to eat. I think he has gotten good at driving drunk.

Me: They are so lucky they have never hurt anyone.

Primo: Yeah, I know. I have been making sure I do the driving when I am with them for years.

Me: It would have been nice if they had stayed sober or at least not acted drunk for our wedding dinner.

Primo: You mean, “It would have been nice if they had thought about someone else instead of themselves?”

Me: Yeah! That!

Primo: That’s how they roll.

Me: Your mom was all weepy about you when you were a baby and wanted out of your crib. She tells me that story every time she sees me.

Primo: Any time she drinks, she gets like that.

Me: Which is – always.

Primo: Unfortunately, yes. She is not a happy person.

Me: But this was different. She gave me her mother’s wedding ring.

Primo: What?

Me: I was shocked, too. The ring is a huge deal with her.

Primo: It is?

Me: Don’t you remember the first time I met your parents how she told me about it and she was all sad because she had wanted to give the ring to Nancy?

Primo: Oh yeah. I had forgotten about my grandmother’s rings. I don’t get sentimental about things like that.

Me: Your mom does.

Primo: She is attached to things.

Me: I get annoyed with her – she seemed to be all in on the boycott the wedding movement, but I also feel sorry for her, being stuck with your dad. That fight they had the last time we were there?

Primo: What are you talking about?

Me: When he was screaming at her! And she was crying!

Primo: I don’t remember.

Me: How can you not remember?

Primo: Because that kind of thing happens all the time with them. It’s their normal.

Me: That is really sad.

Primo: My dad is a jerk.

Me: You can say that again.

Primo: How about that toast?

Me: Lovely! I like the way he insulted his first wife. And the way he talked you up, you, the perfect child, in comparison to your brothers. Even though we know he is also probably very disappointed in you, too.

Primo: Man.

Me: What? You don’t like being the Perfect Child? Aren’t you proud?

Primo: I don’t want the burden of being responsible for them. I don’t want to be the only one they want. My life would be a lot easier if Ted and Jack helped out. Only my mom and dad don’t want them, they want me.

Me: Who cares what they want? Why do their wishes get to trump yours?

Primo: All they do is complain. They are horrible houseguests. You made things so nice – we gave them our bedroom! – and they still complain! They can’t even say one nice thing to you.

Me: Nope. Because I am the evil gold digger.

Primo: Although really, it’s my dad. My mom just goes along with him.

Me: Yes – she is a different person when she is not around him. I could not believe how she – she – sparkled! – when she and I went to the gardens.

Primo: My dad is a jerk. He is the one doing the main complaining. You didn’t offer oatmeal.

Me: What?

Primo: Didn’t I tell you? I thought I had.

Me: What are you talking about? You told me about the cabbage and the napkins and of course we know I am a Bad Bacon Eater, but oatmeal? There is something about oatmeal now?

Primo: My dad is annoyed that you did not offer him oatmeal.

Me: But I did! I showed him and your mom where everything was so they could make breakfast for themselves and not have to wait for us.

Primo: No. He was upset that you made oatmeal and did not offer any to him.

Me: When?

Primo: I think he first complained about this on Monday.

Me: Oh! Yes, I made oatmeal on Monday, but when I got to the kitchen, your dad was already eating cornflakes.

Primo: He was?

Me: Yes! He was almost done with his cereal when I started making oatmeal. I guess I could have asked if he wanted an oatmeal chaser to his cornflakes, but it didn’t occur to me that someone who had just finished a bowl of cold cereal would also want a bowl of hot cereal.

Primo: He has been complaining about that.

Me: Why didn’t he just ask me to make some for him?

Primo: Because he would rather have a reason not to like you.

Me: Of course. They’re not going to be visiting often, are they?

Primo: I doubt they will visit ever again. I have no intentions of ever inviting them again.

Me: Then that’s fine with me.

Primo: And you don’t need to go with me when I visit them. This boycott threat? That was ridiculous. I need to visit them because they are my parents and I feel sorry for my mom, but I don’t think you need to put any more effort into the relationship.

Me: Good. Because I am done with them.

Primo: They have been so awful. I feel so bad for my mom, but even though I feel bad for her, just a few days of them in our house has been horrible. They will never live with us. Ever.

Me: Is that your wedding present to me?

Primo: Yes, I suppose so!

Me: That? Is the best wedding present you could have given me.

THE END

Ch 12 Doris is all weepy at my wedding dinner and it kind of ticks me off but then I really listen to her and it makes me sad for her and then she makes a Grand Gesture and it makes me so sad because her daughter is dead and she is married to a jerk and there is nothing she can do

Doris waves me over. Good grief. Now what?

Her cheeks are wet. Why is she sad? This is a wedding, a celebration.

I know! I know! I am joking! She is sad that Primo married me. Or she is sad that she is married to Sly. Or both.

She is drunk. She is weeping.

Doris: The most blissful time of my life was when Primo was a toddler. I would put him in his playpen while I ironed and did other housework. At only nine months old, he started talking. He was so bright. “Out!” he would say. “Out!” Then he would raise his little arms so I could lift him. I treasured those days.

Me: Yes, you’ve told me that story before.

           

Doris: He is my Only Joy!

Me: Uh huh.

Don’t you just want to slap me and tell me not to be such a bitch? Writing this, I feel really bad. I am not being kind. It costs me nothing to be nice to an old lady. And man, do I get hoist on my petard here. You’ll see.

Doris: No, you don’t understand. He really is the only happiness I have in life. He is the only person in my life who brings me joy.

Oh. Oh. I get it. I would be bitterly unhappy if I lived with Sly. I guess I would drink, too, as much as I could. I still remember what Primo’s brother said about Sly: He turns wives into alcoholics.

Doris: You love Primo. You’ll be good to him.

Me: OK, Doris. OK. I know.

She weeps.

Crap. What do I say? I just don’t want to deal with her weepy, drunk emotions. I don’t inflict my emotions on other people. I don’t want to take theirs.

Doris: Sit down.

Me: Ummm.

I look around for rescue.

Doris: Please.

I don’t want to talk to her, but I feel sorry for her.

Doris: I want to give you something.

Is she going to give me Wedding Night Advice? Great. That would be fabulous.

She pulls out a small box out of her purse and hands it to me.

Doris: Open it.

It contains a ring with a thin, worn band and a tiny diamond. The band has been cut.

Doris: That is my dear, dear mother’s wedding ring. They had to cut it off her finger when she died. I want you to have it.

My jaw drops. She has told me about her mother’s ring and how precious it was to her. She had wanted to give it to Nancy. She cried when she told me about it. I don’t even know what to say to you guys, except see what I mean about being hoist on my petard?

I really don’t know what to say to her.

Me: Thank you, Doris. I don’t know what to say. I know how special this ring is to you and I know how much Primo loved his grandmother. I will treasure it. Thank you.

A hug seems like the right thing to do but it also feels incredibly awkward. I pat her hand. That seems like a good compromise. 

Ch 12 Sly makes a toast but can’t even bring himself to say my name

Sly stands. “I want to offer a toast to our son, Primo, who is our only joy. He is intelligent and accomplished.[1] He is the only thing in our life we are proud of.” (Blah blah blah more stupid boring stuff here that is just blather.) “My first marriage was not a success. I hope Primo is as happy in his second marriage as I am in mine.”

Notes:

·         Not once does Sly say my name

·         Not once does Sly refer to “Primo’s wife”

·         Not once does he say the word “Welcome”

·         He does say the word “happy” once, but it is almost a curse – he and Doris are miserable, as far as I can tell

A silence falls over the two tables. Sly and Doris have no friends. Their chief joy is trash talking other people, including their own family, and waiting for 4:00 so they can start drinking. What’s the point of waiting until 4:00 anyhow? If you’re a drunk, you’re a drunk. Own it. If you want to drink, drink. Waiting for an arbitrary deadline does not make you less of a drunk.

Sure. Thanks, Sly. This is the happiness I want for sure.

---

[1] Sly doesn’t really believe that. He thinks Primo should have gotten a PhD.

Ch 12 My brother and my sister each make a toast welcoming Primo to the family

My brother stands. “I would like to make a toast,” he says. “We are very happy to have Primo in our family. My sister is a special person and she waited a long time to find the right man. We had given up. But as soon as I met Primo, I knew her wait – and ours – had been worth it. Here’s to Goldie and Primo.”

Jenny stands. “I also want to welcome Primo to our family. He is a great guy. I can tell he loves my sister and that she loves him. We are very lucky that our family has grown to include Primo. I couldn’t ask for a better brother in law.” 

Ch 12 Primo and I make sure we will not be sitting by Sly and Doris at the restaurant

Primo and I arrive first at the restaurant. Bayou, one of our favorites, serves excellent New Orleans style food.

I worked with the chef to create a menu that would make everyone – the lactose intolerant, the lactose fakers, the hemochromatosis, and the whatevers – happy.

The booze issue. Lord have mercy, Sly and Doris could put us in the poorhouse with their alcohol bill. We have to manage this.

“We have some guests who – like to drink,” I explained to the owner. “How do we do it so everyone knows that they only get one drink on us? We are bringing the wine, but I can see my in-laws running up a bar tab higher than the dinner costs. Not to mention I don’t need them to get smashed.”

He laughed. “I promise your situation is not unique. We’ll handle it. Our waiters know what to say.”

Two tables at the back of the restaurant are set beautifully, with a small menu at each plate. At the top of the menu, it says, “Primo and Goldie Rehearsal Dinner,” which is wrong.

Should I be a bridezilla? Throw a fit?

Nope. Not a big deal. Who cares? We are married and that is all that matters. Perhaps they aren’t used to Friday afternoon weddings.

Me: Where is everyone going to sit?

Primo: My mom and dad will be upset if they can’t sit with me. But this is our wedding. They have had me mostly to themselves since Saturday. Let’s sit with your brother and sister.

Me: Let’s hope they get here before your mom and dad do.

Primo: I hope they get here soon.

Me: I don’t!

Primo: No. I mean – I didn’t even think about it before I gave them the car keys, but they went back to the house to drink.

Me: Oh crap. Really? Your dad is going to be driving drunk?

Primo: I don’t think so. When I am with them and we go out for dinner, he doesn’t drink as much as he usually does. I think this was more for my mom.

Me: You mean he was trying to be nice to your mom? That’s a switch.

Primo: I know.

My mom, Dr. J, Greg, and Jenny arrive.

Me: Mom, would you do me a huge favor? This would count as your wedding present to me.

Not really. She already sent me a Kitchen Air mixer and I have no intentions of returning it. This is wedding present number two.

Mom: Sure. What do you want?

Me: Would you sit at the table with Sly and Doris so I don’t have to?

She raises her eyebrows. I have not told her anything about the bad blood between Primo’s parents and me. I am not a Reliable Narrator. I didn’t wanted to poison her against them before she met them. Maybe I am wrong and Sly and Doris are right. Maybe they were right to tell Primo not to marry and to threaten to boycott our wedding. Maybe I am a golddigger.

Maybe my mom will see them in a different way. Maybe I am the problem, not Sly and Doris. Maybe they are really lovely people who are easy to get along with and I’m the one who has no friends or relationships that I have sustained across decades, oceans, and languages.

Hahahahaha! I just had to say that.

No.

I just hadn’t wanted to burden her with the knowledge that she was going to have to spend several days in the same house with people who think she and I are stupid because of our political and religious beliefs.

“OK,” she says. “Sure.” She takes Dr. J’s hand and moves to the other table.

I grab my brother and sister. "Sit here," I say. "We've hardly had a chance to see you!" There. Now I am surrounded by people I like. I am throwing my mom, Dr. J, and Pastor Gail to the wolves of Sly and Doris, but they are taking one for the team.

Besides, let Sly and Doris prove me wrong about worrying about how they would behave in public. They were insulted at the insinuation that they would be rude to Pastor Gail? Show me I was wrong. I’d be happy to be wrong.

Not to be all bridezilla-y, but it is my wedding, in theory and probably in reality because I am one and done, the only wedding I will ever have. If you can’t sit with the people you want at your own wedding, when can you?

Once everyone has arrived, the waiter offers everyone a drink. He says something like, “The hosts are offering one complimentary cocktail before dinner.” He makes it sound good but he also makes it clear that if anyone wants more than one, they can get out their own wallets.

Sly and Doris order only the one drink each, which seems like not a lot for them, but during dinner, there is a lot of wine being consumed at the other table and it sure isn’t by my mom, Dr. J, or Pastor Gail.

Ch 12 We take pictures by the lake but Sly and Doris want no part of it and it doesn’t hit me until now that of course they would not want to be with us – it is almost 4:00 p.m.

After the church photos and chatting are done, we depart for the lake to take more photos. It’s a prettier backdrops than the inside of Primo's plain little cinderblock (but with a heart) church.

Sly and Doris decide to go back to the house. They don’t want to go for photos.

“But we packed a cooler with cheese and sausage and beer,” I say. “We’re going to take pictures and have snacks. Our dinner reservation is for 6:00. There’s not really enough time to go back to the house and then come all this way out again to the restaurant. You’ll get to the house and pretty much have to turn around and come back.”

“We’re tired,” they insist. “We’d rather not go.”

Fine. I don’t care. They don’t have to go. They're grownups. They can choose what they want to do and don’t want to do.

We recalculate the car formula. Primo gives Sly his keys and he and Doris leave. The rest of us go to the lake and take more photos and have a lovely Sly- and Doris-free time.

Ch 12 And we get married and live happily ever after, right?

Pastor Gail and Father Joe share the pulpit at Primo’s little cinderblock Lutheran church, with Pastor Gail performing the ceremony and Father Joe giving a short sermon, which is my favorite kind. Primo and I stand in front of the altar for the entire ceremony, which meant that I feel every inch of my very cute but very high-heeled black patent peep toe pumps.

When Father Joe says, “member of the body of Christ,” Primo and I look away from each other, biting our lips to keep from laughing.

“He said ‘member!’” I mouth at Primo when I look at him again.[1]

My brother caught my eye. “Mawwiage!” he mouths.

Fifteen minutes later, we are married. My mom takes photos. My sister takes photos. My brother takes photos.

Sly and Doris, who have a camera, sat in the pews. They do not take photos. They don’t even ask to be in the photos anyone else is taking and I sure don’t suggest it because I am not interested in photos of Sly and Doris.

My mom, Dr. J, and Pastor Gail talk about Norwegian immigrant life on the prairie, family history research, and Lutherans, of which my mom's father was one. Primo talks to Father Joe. Greg and Jenny talk to me.

Sly and Doris sit in the pews and don’t talk to anyone.

---

[1] Yes, he is 12.

Ch 12 I show Primo my new and improved self and he proposes for real, although still not with a ring, which is good because I do not like wearing rings and an engagement ring for me would be a big fat waste of money

Primo: Wow!

Me: Don’t get used to it. There is no way I could re-create this look ever. I don’t have the skills or the patience.

Primo: You look good to me.

Me: Good enough to marry?

Primo: Maybe.

Me: Does that mean you’re going to propose?

Primo: I thought we had already agreed to get married. We did buy real estate together. We are somewhat committed.

Me: Yeah, but you never proposed properly. Propose already.

Primo: OK. Will you marry me?

Me: Do you have a ring?

Primo: No, but I have something better.

Me: What could be better than a ring? You already got me the Good Trash Can.

Primo: And I even paid full price because it never went on sale.

Me: What more could a woman want?

Primo: What about these?

He opens his desk drawer and pulls out a little box.

Primo: Open it.

Earrings. I lift one out of the box. A long silver strand is embedded with three tiny diamonds spaced along its length.

Me: They’re gorgeous!

Primo: Look at the other one.

The second earring is longer than the first one and contains four tiny diamonds.

Me: What are these?

Primo: I had them made from the diamonds from my first wedding ring.  You didn’t want an engagement ring and you don’t want a fancy wedding ring, but I wanted you to have something nice.

They were beautiful and environmentally responsible – a recycled wedding ring!

Me: Thank you. I love them.

Primo: You haven’t answered my question. Will you marry me?

Me: Oh! Well of course. I have to. I’ve already bought real estate with you.

Ch 12 Jenny gives me makeover, which is fitting because she has the hair, makeup, and accessorizing gene that I did not get

Jenny knocks on the door of the guest room, where I am getting dressed. She hands me a box. “Open it,” she urges.

It contains a pair of lacy blue silk underwear. “That’s your something new and your something blue,” she says. “I thought about wearing them once to make them old, but there are too many bad memories with those days.”

She is referring to our childhood, when I would accuse her of wearing my underwear. She probably didn’t and if she did, it was by accident. We shared a room and a dresser. It is possible our mom put the wrong underwear in the wrong drawer. Why a mother should even have to put clothes in her children’s drawers I don’t know. If a kid is old enough to dress herself, she is old enough to put her own clothes away. My mom figured that out pretty quickly and soon got to the point where she left the clean clothes on our beds.

And yes, we knew where our own clothes went.

We even know where bathroom, bedroom, and kitchen linens were stored. We knew all this even though neither of us had a PhD in English.

“Let me do your hair and makeup,” she says. “You need to look good.”

Not that this sexpot even needs lipstick.

She opens her bag, removes makeup, a hairdryer, a curling iron, and various potions, and gets busy. She puts some magic potion on my hair, then dries it while she pulled it out with a round brush.

I don’t even own a round brush.

She plugs in the hot iron, then runs it through my hair several times.

“Don’t move!” she snaps as I lean into the hot wand. A little burn on the neck to celebrate the wedding.

She plucks my eyebrows, which I have never done.

She strokes foundation on my skin, blending it quickly and decisively. The few times in my life that I have tried to apply foundation, I have ended up looking like a kabuki dancer.

She applies eyeliner, a skill I have never mastered, then eye shadow. Three colors. All blended together. I’ve seen it done in magazines but have never been brave enough to try it on myself. Mascara. Then lipstick. I have never been good with lipstick. Putting it on seems easy enough, but I have never figured out how to pick the right color. I don’t own any. I just get the chapstick from my dentist – it’s what he gives out instead of lollipops – twice a year and that’s enough lip adornment for me.

Let me tell you about my sister and her mad makeup and accessorizing skills.

In my first job out of college, when I was 25 and she was 22 and already established in her nursing career after earning a two-year RN degree for which she borrowed no money – smart girl, smart career choices – I wish I had had her sense and majored in something more practical than English – Jenny came to visit me at work. She was in Austin for a meeting and picked me up for lunch.

She walked in the door wearing a miniskirt and high heels. Her shirt was not low cut, but it was pretty obvious that she had gotten all the bosom that was allocated to the Digger sisters. 

Her long, curly blonde hair tumbled down her back. It had grown back since the Great Haircutting Debacle of ‘XX when she and the neighbor boy, Stevie, got into the gardener’s toolbox and found the hedge clippers.

My sister and me, back when we didn’t need makeup. Although I do know of people who happen to be Texans, which makes me sad, because it gives people a bad image of Texas, who put full makeup on their elementary school age daughters

Her long nails were red. Her makeup was perfect. She was wearing long earrings that twinkled against her hair.

I was wearing my little navy blue suit and a pink cotton blouse with a bow tie, for that was what proper young corporate women wore to work in the that time. It was radical for a professional woman to wear a dress to work and pants were out of the question.

I introduced my boss and a co-worker to Jenny when she arrived, then she and I went to lunch.

After she dropped me back at work, my boss sighed, “Your sister oozes sensuality.”

“Yeah,” my co-worker breathed. “You guys are complete opposites.”

Thanks guys.

Jenny knows what she is doing with hair and makeup. When she finishes, she turns me to the mirror.

I swear I do not even recognize myself. She is a miracle worker.

Ch 12 But they hardly drink the Lactaid

So far – what day is it? Friday? – after five mornings here, they have used only about two cups of the Lactaid, about one quarter of the container. The Good Cheese,[1] however, is gone.

---

[1] $22 a pound. Did I tell you it costs $22 a pound?

Ch 12 Sly and Doris finish all the booze they bought and start drinking our booze again

Remember that liquor Sly and Doris bought on Monday? That liquor of which I thought there would be leftovers to add to our liquor supply and I was happy about that, not because I care if we have cheap booze but because justice?

It is gone.

Yes.

You read that properly.

It took them only four days to finish almost two liters of hard liquor.[1]

They have been drinking wine with supper every night, too. We calculate that they drink more than eight ounces[2] of hard liquor each per day, plus wine.

---

[1] Primo was at a doctor’s appointment with Sly once. The doc asked Sly how much he alcohol he consumed and Sly answered, “Oh, about one drink a day.” Primo almost fell out of his chair.

[2] Or something like that. The math gets weird with ounces – you know that.

Ch 12 My brother, my sister, and Dr. J bring coffee and breakfast to us, including food Jenny can’t even eat, but her 100% lactose intolerance is exceeded by her family tolerance

Dr. J and my brother and sister, no worse the wear for having stayed up late the night before, arrive at 10:00 bearing a mocha for me, regular coffee for Primo, half caf/no caf for my mom, bagels, and cream cheese.

They probably slept past 6:30. They probably didn’t have someone stomping on a wooden floor right above their heads.

Jenny: Primo, can I fix your coffee?

Primo: No. I'll do it myself. I have my own way of doing it.

Jenny: How's that?

Primo: I put in the half and half first because that way I don't have to stir it and I put in the amount I want.

Jenny: Oh my gosh. You and my sister were made for each other.

Primo: What do you mean?

Jenny: When we were kids, Goldie would ask me to get her a glass of water. I'd get it and she'd say, “You didn't do it right.” How can you not make a glass of ice water right? Well, she'd say, “You have to put the ice in first! That way, the water runs over the ice and cools as it goes into the glass.”

Primo: Well, she is right.

Ch 12 Primo and I sleep in the basement, which is not comfortable and is not quiet, especially when Sly and Doris get their noisy, clomping selves out of bed at dark:30

Yesterday, Primo and I vacated the guest room for my mom and moved to the sofa bed in the basement, which is right under the kitchen.

Do not let people stay at your house when you get married unless you are really, really rich and have a huge house and servants.

And probably not even then.

At 6:30 a.m., which, if you will remember, is five hours and 15 minutes after we left the bar last night, which means we have had (five hours and 15 minutes) minus (the time it took to drive home, brush our teeth, and change clothes) to sleep, Sly and Doris start coffee. The coffee maker sounds like a small plane taking off.

They converse in normal tones.

They stomp, stomp, stomp across the wooden floor.

They open and close every single cupboard looking for the cereal and the bowls that I moved yesterday.

Yes. I spent an entire day re-arranging my kitchen so they could not find common kitchen items. Hahahaha!

No! Not really! I did not move a thing. Everything is in the same place it was yesterday and the day before and the day before that and the day before that and the day before that and where it will be tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow.

Is it that hard to remember where things are in someone else’s kitchen? Must you open every cabinet and every drawer?

They are making no effort to be quiet and why should they? They are up. If they are up, shouldn’t everyone else be up?

Ch 12 Sly and Doris tell Primo that using cloth napkins is unhygienic and that I am a Bad Cabbage User

Primo: Oh! I forgot to tell you. Guess what my mom and dad are complaining about now?

Me: What?

Primo: You used bad cabbage. You are a Bad Cabbage User.

Me: What?

Primo: Bad cabbage. My mom said you used bad cabbage.

Me: What is she talking about? What is bad cabbage?

Primo: Apparently, when you made the coleslaw, you used bad cabbage. It had brown spots on it.

Me: Yes. Because cut cabbage rusts on the cut part, which is why I trim the brown part off before I use the rest for food. Which is how normal people do it.

Primo: My mom thought you should have thrown all of it away.

Me: Oh Lord. She thought I should have thrown away an entire half cabbage?

Primo: I guess so.

Me: Waste half a cabbage? Because of some bad spots that can be cut off?

Primo: Yes.

Me: That’s wasteful. And your mother – an environmentalist.

Primo: At least she is not a Bad Cabbage User. And she and my dad think cloth napkins are really unhygienic.

Me: Yeah, I already had that conversation with her. I can’t win, can I?