Ch 1 Saturday Primo confirms what I suspect, which is that Sly and Doris do not like me, even though they just met me and I have been on mostly good behavior

Me: I have to ask you something. Meeting Stephanie really highlighted it for me. Have I done something wrong? It seems like your mom and dad don’t like me. They didn’t ask me a single thing about myself. They don’t seem interested in me. I mean, maybe they’re not interested, but I am the first woman you’ve brought home since (Primo’s ex wife), right? It’s been years since they have met a girlfriend of yours.

Primo: They weren’t happy about having to set up the spare room for me.

Me: That’s it? They’re annoyed just because I didn’t want to share a room with you? Do they always react that strongly to things? Because I didn’t think this would be that big of a deal. But they were kind of rude to me when we arrived. They hardly spoke to me. Even when I tried to talk to them, they just gave me short answers and then went right back to bashing Stephanie. They will barely make eye contact with me.

Primo: No. That’s not it. That’s not all.

Me: Then what did I do? I have never had this problem before. Parents have mostly liked me. If they didn’t, they seemed to fake it pretty well.

Primo: I sent them the address to your blog.

Me: But why?

Primo: I really like it. Your friends like it. I thought they would like it. But they read it and said you are self-centered and shallow. And they don’t agree with your politics.

Me: You mean my blog where I write about the quest for the Yard of the Month award and the search for the perfect purse and aren’t shoes amazing?

Primo: You do talk about politics some.

Me: A tiny bit. But so what?

Primo: Politics are really important to them.

Me: So?

Primo: They don’t agree with your politics.

Me: So?

Primo: So they don’t like you.

Me: Because we don’t agree politically.

Primo: Yes.

Me: When did they say this?

Primo: It’s been a while.

Me: You knew? You knew they already didn’t like me, even before we came here?

Primo: Yes.

Me: Why didn’t you say anything? You could have warned me. You could have not brought me. I didn’t have to meet them.

Primo: You would have to meet them someday. We are getting married once my divorce is final.

Me: They could die before then.

Primo: I thought that once they met you, they would realize how wrong they were. I didn’t think they would be able to dislike you once they had met you.

Me: I mention politics about once a month on my blog. The rest of the time, I write about how the fix is in for the yard of the month and how I want all the rabbits to be dead so they don’t eat my flowers.

Primo: I know.

Me: When I do write about politics, I discuss issues, not parties. I talk about what a jerk Fidel Castro is. I mentioned Father Joe and the time he spent in the concentration camp in Vietnam before he escaped. Is any of that so controversial? Are they big Fidel Castro fans? Big concentration camp fans? Is that it? They don’t like me just because we have different political ideas? Does that mean I’m not supposed to like them, either? Because by definition, if they disagree with my views, I also disagree with theirs. Does that mean I am supposed to not like them? I don’t agree with your views, but I love you. What do political opinions have to do with friendship? I have plenty of friends who have different views. I don’t care. We don’t talk about politics. There are plenty of other things to talk about. Purses. Shoes. Gardens. Food. Rabbits. Cats. Food.

Primo: Everything is political with them. My dad, especially. My mom mostly goes along with him to keep the peace. She is the nicest person in the world.

Me: I have never had a boyfriend’s parents not like me. Or at least, not like me and show it.

Primo: I am sure that once they get to know you – or once my mom gets to know you – that she will like you.

Me: I won’t talk about politics with them.

Primo: That’s probably a good idea.

Ch 1 Saturday I ask Primo why his parents don’t like Stephanie because she seems pretty nice to me

Me: What is your parents’ problem was with Stephanie? She’s nice!

Primo: They’re critical about everyone. And my dad is an intellectual snob. He thinks Stephanie is uncultured.

Me: Don’t forget that she’s fat! Your dad thinks she is so fat. Why does he even care what she weighs? Why does that matter? I think she is very cute and she is very nice and your niece and nephew seem like really nice kids.

Primo: He’s a lot fatter than she is. Stephanie is not 100 pounds overweight. But all he can do is complain about her weight and lack of sophistication.

Me: She’s nice. She’s gracious. She’s welcoming. That matters more than whether she has a PhD.

Primo: Not to my dad.

Ch 1 Saturday I meet Stephanie, who is lovely, even though she does not serve her children brown rice, take them to museums, or use proper grammar

Primo takes me to meet Stephanie.

She. Is. Lovely.

This is how it’s supposed to go when you meet the relatives of your boyfriend. Unless you are a truly horrible person, which I am not, relatives are supposed to be gracious and welcoming.

Heck, even if you are a truly horrible person, relatives are supposed to be gracious and welcoming. Sure, there can be trash talk later, but not to the new person or to her boyfriend. You are supposed to be nice to the new person, even if she is horrible. For one thing, you never want to force your relative to defend his horrible girlfriend. People will dig in their heels if they feel they are being attacked and might stay with a horrible girlfriend just out of spite.

Wait. “Spite” is the wrong word. More like, just out of, “I don’t want you to be able to say, ‘I told you so!’ to me, so I am not going to break up with her.”

But I digress.

When Stephanie opens the door, she hugs me and says, "I finally get to meet you! I have been so looking forward to this! Come on in! What would you like to drink? Do you want a snack? Michael! Maria! Come here! Say hello to your Uncle Primo’s girlfriend!”

The kids hug Primo and then shake my hand, look me in the eye, smile, and say, “Nice to meet you.”

Stephanie: What can I get you to drink? I have diet Coke. Regular Coke. Orange juice. Milk. Beer.

Me: Diet Coke would be great.

Stephanie: Are you hungry? Andrew! Get Goldie a diet Coke and some of those cannoli we made yesterday!

Whoa. Food and drink the second I cross the threshold. I like her.

Primo plays Monopoly with M and M. Stephanie and I talk. How did Primo and I meet? Are we getting married? We don’t know yet? We'd been dating for a year! Come on! How can we not know? Where am I from? What about my family? Could Primo and I come over for supper?

This is the sort of welcome I hoped to have from Sly and Doris. You know. A welcoming welcome.

Ch 1 Saturday Sly tells his favorite story about his childhood that helps me understand him, just not in a good way

When Sly was a little boy, his teacher made some grammatical error. Sly corrected her.

Sly: And she was upset about it!

Me: Maybe she didn’t want to be corrected by a second grader.

Sly: But she was wrong! And I was right!

Me: Maybe she thought you were being disrespectful.

Sly: But she was wrong! And I was right!

Ch 1 Saturday Doris makes a pie for Primo and I try to become her BFF but it doesn’t work

This could be a Bonding Moment between Doris and me! We are going to make a pie for Primo.

I know! I will ask Doris for pie-making advice! Everyone loves to be the expert, right? She will get to teach me and it will give her all the good feelings about me and hey, the pendulum will start to swing the other way.

Of course, I already know how to make pie. I make excellent pie. My grandmother taught me and I know not to overwork the crust. I know how to make pie.

But – I also know that being a Know It All is not the way to ingratiate yourself with your boyfriend’s mother, so I will be a good little sous chef and ask her questions about how she makes pie so she can be the Expert Sharing Her Knowledge. Letting other people be the Know It All is not a bad life strategy for getting along.

Except – do you know how hard it is to be quiet when the alleged expert is doing it all wrong?

Lord have mercy, Doris! It is NOT THAT HARD to make a damn pie!

But she is my boyfriend’s mother and someday, she will be my mother in law. I want to be friends with her. I do it her way.

Even though she is wrong.

Me: What can I do to help?

Doris: You may peel the apples.

Me: Where is the potato peeler?

Doris: I don’t have one.

Me: Oh. OK. Then – how do you peel the apples?

She hands me the old blunt paring knife I used to smash the Imitrex last night. I flick it against my thumb and regret my stupid, stupid offer to help.

Me: Primo actually likes the peel.

This is the truth. This is not just me being lazy. It’s partially me being lazy, but it is also the truth. We never peel apples or potatoes when we cook. First, a lot of the vitamins are under the skin. Second, the skins taste good. And third, the lazy part.

Doris: No he doesn’t. I always peel the apples when I make pie for him.

Me: Yes he does, Doris! I’ve made apple strudel with him and he specifically said we shouldn’t peel the apples because it would taste better that way.

Oh wait. I don’t actually say that last bit because it would be stupid to fight with my boyfriend’s mother. 

Instead, I bite my tongue and peel the apples with a dull paring knife that still has Imitrex powder on it.

In which Primo does not want to give a ride to Capital City to some weird guy

Primo: This guy wants a ride with me to the party convention.

Me: So? Isn't that the environmentally responsible thing to do - to carpool?

Primo: Yes, but he's really weird.

Me: Like how?

Primo: Well, he always asks people for rides - he doesn't have a car.

Me: Why doesn't he take the bus?

Primo: I don't know.

Me: What kind of job does he have?

Primo: I don't know.

Me: How old is he?

Primo: I don't know.

Me: How can you not know these things?

Primo: Because I don't know him! He asks perfect strangers for rides!

Me: Oh! Yes, that's a little presumptuous. Have you given him a ride before?

Primo: Yes, and that's why I don't want to do it again.

Me: What has he done to reciprocate?

Primo: What do you mean?

Me: I mean, how is he returning the favor? When I was in grad school, in one of my classes, my professor talked about their being three principles that are constant across all cultures: the taboo against incest, the principle of hospitality, and the principle of reciprocity. It's part of our social contract - that you don't expect to get a favor without giving a favor. Does he buy you a coffee? Does he offer to help pay for gas?

Primo: Nope.

Me: He is not doing it right!

Primo: And he's just odd. The first time I met him was a few years ago - that night at the mayor's campaign party -

Me: The one where your car was towed?

Primo: Yes.

Me: Yeah, that was fabulous.

Primo: It was raining that night. I don't know if he walked or took the bus or what, but he was wearing one of those dollar store ponchos.

Me: OK. To keep the rain off him.

Primo: Yes. But he kept it on ALL NIGHT LONG. He was inside. There was no rain. But he was still wearing his rain poncho!

Me: You can tell him that I am taking the bus to meet you in Capital City and we are spending the weekend there so you can't give him a ride. This guy is too strange.

Ch 1 Saturday - Sly offers the master shower to Primo and me and I throw up a little bit in my mouth as images of Sly and Doris naked in the shower come to my mind

You guys, this is so, so gross. SO GROSS! Who does this?

Sly is already up when I get up. He says, “If you and Primo want to use our shower instead of the guest bathroom, go ahead. It fits two. Doris and I shower together all the time.”

The Viagra conversation, taken to another level. The man who knows I am uncomfortable with the idea of sleeping in the same bed with his son in his house thinks I wouldn’t mind taking a shower in his bathroom with his son while he is in the next room.

When I brought my college boyfriend home, my dad asked him if he wanted to play chess. He never offered us the shower in the master bedroom.

1.      If I’m not comfortable sharing a bed with their son under their roof, what makes him think I would be comfortable taking a shower with him under their roof?

2.      The image of Sly and Doris naked together in the shower flashes into my head and makes me a tiny bit sick to my stomach. I don’t want to imagine about my own parents naked. I definitely do not want to think about my boyfriend’s parents naked. I shake my head, trying to evict the picture from my mind, but it sticks there and haunts me.

3.      I have showered in the nastiest of showers in the nastiest of motels in Latin America. I have stayed in motels where the shower is covered with mildew and the sink is gray, caked with grease and old whiskers. I used those facilities because I had no choice. It was use a nasty shower or be dirty with the sweat of a 21-hour bus ride over bad Paraguayan dirt roads where the toothless drunk next to me kept falling asleep on my shoulder and the passenger behind me threw up in his seat and the bus driver refused to clean it up, telling me that it was not his responsibility.

I can take a lot, but my shower tolerance has been used up. I am not squeamish about many things, but showering in a tub that has not been cleaned after the previous occupant has used it unless the previous occupant is my sister, my brother, my mom, my boyfriend, or one of my best friends makes my stomach turn.

Showering after someone I don’t even know and risking finding their body hair on the shower floor or in the soap would make me betray my country.

Showering in someone else’s shower WITH MY BOYFRIEND is – I don’t even have the words.

“No, the guest bathroom is fine, thank you,” I answer.

Ch 1 Primo tells me about his sister and I have some sympathy for Sly and Doris

Me: You don’t talk much about your sister.

Primo: It’s hard. She was not easy.

Me: What do you mean?

Primo: When we were little, she was really fun. She was very smart and very creative and very funny. But after I left for college, she changed. My parents started having a lot of problems with her. They never did get a good diagnosis, although they think she had borderline personality disorder.

Me: What’s that?

Primo: It makes someone really sensitive. My mom said it was like Nancy didn’t have any skin. Anything would hurt her feelings and she would lash out. My mom thought she needed treatment and my dad thought she still needed to be held accountable for her actions.

Me: Could she control her actions?

Primo: Yes. One time, she flipped off a cop – but she was in the back of a bus and she waited until it had pulled away from the stop so the cop couldn’t get her. She knew exactly what she was doing.

Me: What happened to her? I know she died of a heroin overdose. But before that?

Primo: My parents had her committed once and that made her furious. They took her to doctors, but there is not really any way to cure BPD. She started taking drugs. I didn’t even want to go home to visit. Anytime I came home, Nancy – she didn’t drive – would want me to drive her to get drugs and alcohol. And then she would want me to sit in her room with her and listen to this awful heavy metal music. I dreaded seeing her, but I felt so sorry for my parents having to deal with her all the time.

Me: Did she work?

Primo: No. She couldn’t keep a job. She was on disability. She was supposed to move to Florida with my mom and dad – that’s why they got a four-bedroom house, but she died before that. Trying to take care of Nancy just about killed my mom. And since she died, my parents have not been the same.

Ch 1 The condition of the guest room and Primo’s sister’s smoking habits

 Whoa. The guest room. The living room is a mess but the guest room is worse. Maybe they don’t expect people to see the guest room?

It’s not full of trash or anything like that, but it is crowded with photos and posters, crooked in their Michael’s frames, and dusty knickknacks next to the small TV on the dresser. The closet is stuffed full with clothes decades out of style, including heavy winter dresses and tops, with no place for me to hang my things.[1]

I find a paper bag[2] containing old newspapers from Pittsburgh on the closet floor. I flipped through them, looking for the significance – “Dewey Beats Truman?” – but apparently, they are just old newspapers that were moved from Sly and Doris’ old house to the new one.

You guys know movers charge by the pound, right? My dad was in the military and every time we moved, we had to ditch books, because books put you over your weight allowance right away and are not essential for life.

(I think books are essential for life because I am a reader and I am usually happier in a book than I am dealing with real people, but books are not essential for life the way sheets and towels and silverware are.)

The guest bed is uncomfortable, the room is noisy (from Doris’ CPAP machine, which lives in the dining room next to the guest room) and stuffy (the windows are shut and we are depending on air conditioning, even though the weather is perfect and I would be thrilled to sleep with the windows open), and there is nowhere for me to put my clothes, my purse, or the suitcase except on the floor.

Also – no chocolate on the pillow.

These people are savages.

The sheets are pilled[3] and pulling off the mattress because the elastic is shot. The pillow saw better days already ten years ago. I just bruised my thigh on the footboard, which has lovely sharp edges just waiting to pounce.

And there are small round holes with brown edges all over the bedspread and the nightstand.

Me: What on earth are these holes?

Primo: Burn marks.

Me: What?

Primo: This was Nancy’s furniture and linens. Those are cigarette burns.

Me: So – she smoked in bed?

Primo: She did a lot of things.

---

[1] Not that I have much stuff to hang. My travel clothes philosophy is “Must be able to be stuffed into a suitcase without wrinkling.” It’s the principle of the thing.

[2] Yes, I am very nosy. Like you wouldn’t look? If they didn’t want me to see it, they shouldn’t have left it out.

[3] This is what happens when you get polyester blend instead of all cotton. Am I being a bitch? Probably.

Ch 1 Speaking of Viagra

Me: Wow. Look at this story. She had sex with her husband every night for a year.

Primo: What story?

Me: In this magazine that I found on the plane. Point is that she and her husband had sex every single night for a year. Every single night. That’s nuts.

Primo: I'm not getting that much. You didn't want to the other night.

Me: No, you wanted to watch the hockey game instead.

Primo: You didn't want to do it.

Me: Oh please. Neither did you.

Primo: Yeah, but I can blame it all on you.

Ch 1 Sly tells Primo about his Viagra and we are both grossed out because it is so inappropriate

After dinner, I excuse myself with my headache and go to bed to read (and to write all this stuff down before I forget). Primo stays with his mom and dad to play cribbage.

An hour later, he slips into the guest room.

Me: Get out! You can’t sleep here with me. It’s too weird.

Primo: But I have to tell you this! Guess what my dad showed me just now?

Me: I couldn’t possibly begin to guess.

Primo: He showed me his Viagra! He bragged about it.

Me: Oh gross. I didn’t need to hear that. Why did he tell you?

Primo: I don’t know. Maybe he wanted me to know that he can still get busy.

Me: Did you want to know that?

Primo: Not particularly.

Me: Does your dad have any boundaries?

Primo: He doesn’t have anyone else to confide in.

Me: Why does he need to confide to anyone about this?

Primo: They don’t have any friends. They don’t have anyone to talk to.

Me: Not your job, honey. That’s not your problem and your parents should not be telling you things like this. Nobody wants to know this stuff about their parents. Nobody.

Primo: Well, what about this? My dad says that circumcising me was a mistake. He regrets letting them circumcise me and my brothers.

Look! Squirrel!

Me: Well, I do think it's mutilation. If I had boys, I would be against it and would not want to have it done.

We digress and discuss the issue, pros and cons.

Primo: Maybe it's not such a bad thing. My dad[1] says that he has problems with –

Me: Stop! I do not want to hear about your dad's penis!

Primo: But –

Me: No! I mean it! Do not talk about your dad’s penis with me!

Primo: OK.

Me: Hey. I don’t understand your mom and dad. When they talk about Ted and Jack, why don’t they just say “brother?” Why do they say “half-brother?”

Primo: It’s not like I grew up with them.

Me: Yeah, but they are your brothers, right?

Primo: Half-brothers.

Me: That’s a lot to say. It’s easier to say “brothers” than “half-brothers.”

Primo: They want to distance me from them.

Me: Why?

Primo: My dad has told me that Ted and Jack are a great disappointment to him.

Me: He told you that your brothers are a disappointment to him? He complained about one kid to the other kid?

Primo: Two kids. He complained about two kids to one kid. Yes.

Me: You know what I meant. Your dad’s not exactly the poster child for parenting, is he?

Primo: You mean your mom has never complained about your brother and sister to you?

Me: Nope. My dad never did and my mom never has. How do you know your dad doesn’t trash talk you to them?

Primo: I don’t know. Maybe they do.

Me: How are they disappointing? What’s so bad about them, other than being pompous and not eating leftovers?

Primo: Ted hasn’t held a steady job in decades. He says he’s a movie producer, but I have never seen any movie he has produced. I don’t know if he actually has done any.

Me: How does he live?

Primo: His wife has a good job.

Me: What about Jack? What did he do wrong?

Primo: When my mom and dad moved here, they suggested that Jack and Stephanie move as well. They wanted the kids out of Philadelphia. Jack was working for the school district, but he’s a chef and has always wanted to open his own restaurant.

Me: That’s cool! Very risky, but cool.

Primo: Yes to the risky part. My mom and dad were the major investors in the restaurant but it failed. They lost a lot of money. Jack and Stephanie got divorced. It has been a rough few years. They are really angry with Jack because the restaurant failed.

Me: But – they knew the risk they were taking, right? I mean, I am not a restaurant person but I know just off the top of my head that restaurants are one of the riskiest businesses to get into.

Primo: I doubt it. My dad thinks he is the smartest man in the room, so he probably didn’t do any research. He probably thought that just because Jack is a good cook – which he is – he is an excellent chef – that he could run a successful restaurant.

Me: Ouch. That does not necessarily follow.

Primo: I know. I was not involved in this decision. But they are super ticked off about it.

---

[1] Sly is, I gather, not circumcised, which is far more than I want to know about that issue.

Ch 1 We finally eat supper but it’s way too late to stop my migraine

Did I mention that? That I am getting a migraine because I haven’t eaten?

I think I did.

It’s my own stupid fault for not having brought Emergency Food. I should never have assumed that being a guest in someone’s home meant that that someone would provide meals.

By 7:30, when we finally have supper, my stomach is full of Bad Cheese, but I still have a headache. I finally give up and excuse myself for a moment, but when I get into the bedroom, which is where my purse and my Imitrex are, I realize that I don’t have my Swiss army knife with me because I have been on a plane and I for once remembered to remove the knife from my purse before leaving the house so I wouldn’t 

1.      Lose the knife or

2.      Have to run back to guest services and prepare an envelope for the nice volunteer to mail to me on her way home (after buying something – anything but coffee or liquid – at the Starbuck’s outside of security so I can break a $20 bill and give the volunteer the money for the postage)

My doctor writes the prescription for the largest Imitrex possible – 100 mg – and then I cut it into smaller pieces to take it. I get only nine tablets a month, regardless of size.

I take the pillbox into the kitchen, where I find a paring knife. I try to cut a quarter of the pill off the end, but the paring knife is so dull that it smashes the $20 tablet instead of slicing it. I watch most of $20 worth of prescription drug turn into dust and scatter on the counter with the cat hair and coffee grounds.

No matter. It’s still the drug. I pick out the cat hair and the grounds and sweep the dust into my mouth. My people do not waste.

I return to the table, the pillbox in my pocket, and try to pretend to be interested in the conversation. I poke at the food on my plate while Sly and Doris talk to Primo, ignoring me. The conversation continues along the same lines as before: All the stupid people, including Stephanie, who are ruining life for Sly.

I force myself to take a few bites. Who knows when the next meal might come? I also make a mental note to escape the next day to a grocery store – there is some advantage to having the rental car – so I can buy some snacks to hide in my suitcase. I should have slipped some cheese and crackers into a napkin and stuffed them into my purse.

Ch 1 Sly thinks everyone else but him is stupid, which means his life must be so, so hard

 I finally have a chance to ask Primo about his dad when Doris leaves to start supper and Sly turns on the TV news.

Oh! Did you think Sly was going to help Doris with supper?

No! That is not happening! Preparing food is women’s work!

Me: What’s the deal with your dad? He’s convinced that there is no valid opinion but his. Is anyone who disagrees with him stupid by definition? Is he not capable of a rational discussion? Can’t there be a quiet, calm conversation about an issue without someone having to be labeled stupid or idiotic?

Primo: Nope. Only stupid people disagree with him. That’s the only logical reason for someone who doesn’t think the way my dad does. Come here. I want to show you something.

He leads me into his dad’s office, which contains a futon (no, I don’t know why and I really don’t know why Primo couldn’t sleep there if the spare room is too much hassle), two computers, and a lot of books and boxes of books and books stacked on top of each other. Books Sly had paid to move from Pittsburgh to Florida and hey, it’s his money, but dude, if you are retired, do you need to keep all of your professional books?

Primo: Look at this. 

He points to a framed cartoon hanging on the wall. It shows a man with a big nose, nose in the air, saying, “I’m not arrogant! I just happen to be right!” Only the “I’m” and “I” are covered by small pieces of paper taped on the glass that says, “We’re” and “We.”

Primo: I found this at a crafts fair. I laughed because it was my dad. He always raises his nose and sniffs like that. And he is so arrogant! Everyone else is always wrong. He won’t even consider other opinions. I bought it and had it framed and mailed it to him for his birthday. I thought he would think it was funny.

Me: Except your dad doesn’t seem to have a sense of humor, at least not about himself.

Primo: Nope. My mom said he got really mad when he opened it, so she taped the corrections on the glass. I’m surprised he just didn’t throw it away, but my mom probably wouldn’t let him. She thinks it’s really funny.

Me: Do your parents always cuss like that?

Primo: What do you mean?

Me: I mean the cussing! I mean their potty mouths! It’s not like I’m perfect, but I don’t talk like that in front of people I don’t know.

Primo: I never noticed.

Me: They cuss. I don’t know how you can’t notice. You don’t talk like that. You must have noticed at some point.

He shrugs. I guess he is immune.

Ch 1 I am GRATEFUL now that we rented a car and didn’t have to spend an hour trapped in Sly and Doris’ car listening to them complain

If they had picked us up from the airport, we would have had to listen to Sly and Doris talk about Stephanie, AKA Satan Incarnate, the entire time. They really hate her. Maybe she’s an awful person.

Ch 1 Sly and Doris continue criticizing Stupid People and I wonder how long before I am put on that list

 The conversation moves to Those Stupid Creationists.

Let me go on record that I don’t believe in creationism, but how one regards the beginnings of the earth is pretty irrelevant to everyday life. I would rather have a

·         non-recycling

·         eats only white rice and never brown rice

·         who eats all the pickled herring

·         watches bad TV

·         fundamentalist

·         creationist

·         bunny worshipper

·         who lights candles to the full moon and

·         who jabs pins in dolls who look like his enemies

living next door to me than

·         someone with a PhD in biology

·         who teaches at the local university

·         who is published

·         who always leaves his trash can on the sidewalk instead of bringing it in after trash day

·         who never cuts his grass, and

·         who leaves the dog poop in his back yard where I can smell it on hot days.

I have had those neighbors – the trash can on the sidewalk for days neighbors and the dog poop neighbors. I don’t know what they believed, but I do know they were bad neighbors. Who leaves so much dog poop in the back yard that you can smell it?

Give me someone who lives in a neighborly way – keeps his property neat and tidy so my property value is maintained, trains his dogs to be quiet even if that scary neighbor walks into her own back yard, doesn’t have frequent loud parties – and I’ll take someone who believes the moon is made out of green cheese over the super educated, super sophisticated jerk. What you believe does not matter as much as how you live.

Sly: We went to the gift shop at the park and they had creationism books for sale!

Me: So?

Clearly I am crazed with hunger and headache pain to even consider arguing with my boyfriend’s father the first time I meet him.

Sly: That’s crazy! Everyone knows creationism is wrong! What kind of asshole believes in creationism?

Asshole? He says “asshole?” “Asshole” is not a company word. It is not a word to be used when one meets people for the first time. It is not a word that I would say in front of him, for sure.[1]

Doris, however, is unfazed by his language. She nods in agreement as she sips her bourbon.

Sly: How can they even let them sell those books?

Me: What do you mean, “let them?”

Sly: It shouldn’t be allowed!

Me: This was a private store?

Sly:  Yes.

Me: But you want someone – I am assuming you mean the government – to dictate what they can sell? I mean, you want the government to dictate what people can say? Don’t you support the First Amendment?

Sly: Creationism is wrong.[2]

Doris nods again as she reaches for the bottle and pours herself another inch of bourbon. Maybe joining her is not such a bad idea. Does alcohol get rid of a migraine? My cousin Randy, on whom I had a massive crush when I was 12, only to discover later in life that he is gay, which made me sad for me, but really, did I have a chance with my own cousin, even if he is really a second cousin once removed or a third cousin or whatever it is when your mom and his dad are cousins?[3]

Anyhow. Randy swears by a regular Coke and two aspirin for his migraines. I should try that. With booze. Right now.

Me: Whether it’s right or wrong has nothing to do with it. Either you believe in freedom of speech or you don’t. You don’t get to decide based on content.

Sheesh. Aren’t Sly and Doris supposed to be the tolerant, sophisticated ones? Do I really have to explain the First Amendment to them?

Sly: They shouldn’t allow them to sell books that are obviously untrue.

The cheese cracker I am shoving into my mouth is clearly too late to address my blood sugar/judgment issues.

Me: Isn’t it better for bad ideas to be out there where they can be exposed?

Sly: They shouldn’t be allowed to sell things that are clearly wrong!

People have the right to be stupid. Should bookstores be allowed to sell books about astrology? It’s clearly crap. But do I care if someone else reads her horoscope every morning before making a move? Nope. Doesn’t hurt me at all, unless the horoscope is, “Don’t ever hire someone who has colored and cut her own hair after a job and a boyfriend loss.” Then I’m screwed because then, the stupid beliefs could affect me.[4]

The real issue is who gets to make these decisions. Who decides what is right and what is wrong? People like Sly – his personality, not his political affiliation – always know they would be the ones making those decisions. He would be running things were power to change hands. Which just goes to show he has a poor grasp of history. Except for the ones leading the revolution, intellectuals are usually the first to go. Didn’t he see The Killing Fields?

There is no point in arguing with him, so I shut up. How do you convince someone that it is a bad idea for the government to make those kinds of decisions when he is so sure that power would never be used against him?

My shutting up does not stop Sly from continuing to express his opinion.

---

[1] I am saying it to you guys because 1. I am anonymous and 2. I trust you. We are all friends here, right?

[2] Implied but not said out loud: “It’s just idiotic Christians who believe the crap their church tells them. Trailer-park cretins who don’t have any education and can’t think for themselves.”

[3] Plus, also – Falling For Gay Men. Who among us has not dated a man whom she later discovered was gay?

[4] Oh like you have never cut your own hair and then dyed it Clairol #22 Cinnaberry Red. Cast away, sinless long-haired, natural hair color people.