I also own two dogs. Mason, the Pitbull, has an insatiable appetite for cat shit and destroying everything my mother holds dear while Sadie, who is not unlike a small ape, likes to drool and climb on you, making her point known: YOU are the bitch here, not me. My father has an undying love for the dogs, mainly because they're the only people who respect him. He takes Sadie out for hamburgers at McDonald's and will sometimes call her "Party Girl". My father also claims to have seen the ghost of Jerry Garcia flying around in my backyard. Rather than be horrified, my dad simply said "It's gonna be a GREAT day!"
Last week, upon entering my house, my father was furious that I did not respond to his text message about dinner. He wanted to know if he should stop at "the market" and prepare me a meal before the Helicopter Dance Off Improv Spectacular.
"Dad, I didn't get a text message. Are you sure you sent it to me?"
"Yes! And A response would be nice".
Ever since my dad got a cell phone, he has become obsessed with texting. He texted my sister once saying "if you need me, I'm in the garage". My sister was home at the time. Not 15 feet away.
I never got his text. And because you're always wrong in my father's eyes, I decided to prove a point. About a half hour later, I decided to shoot my dad a text. His ringer went off.
My Mother: "Mike! You got a text!"
My Dad: (reading it) "Diabetes?"
My Mother: "What's it say?!"
My Father: (becoming panicked) "I don't know! It just says diabetes!!!"
MyMother: "Who's it from?"
My Father: "I don't know!"
I enjoy proving people wrong. It makes me feel valuable and smart even though I don't always know how to spell words or remember how to divide without using a calculator. So imagine the joy I got from proving that he didn't actually text me. I discovered that my dad deleted the last digit of my cell phone, so had been texting nobody this whole time. But I felt bad because I can only imagine him sitting at work, waiting for a reply like a girl waiting for a call from the boy she likes.
As I was leaving for the improv show, I watched my mother open the oven and say "lookin' good, meatloaf!" I decided to let this go, and threw my bag on.
"Hey Bread Man," my father said as he stood up, "Wham 'em, bam 'em, slam 'em, thank you ma'am 'em tonight!"
My mother nodded her head, trying to cut him off. "No, Mike, you say...'shine bright, Ry' ". Well, I could have just peed on myself because I was laughing so hard. My mother is sweet. And sometimes she's painfully sweet. And sometimes she talks to the meatloaf.
But I adore my parents, like my brother even though he feels more like a college roommate, and hate my dogs. But I live for free and have no complaints. Because when I'm in bed, enjoying the heat that I'm not paying for, I think about my odd little family and smile. And then I remember that Jerry Garcia is around here somewhere, and I hide under my sheets until I pass out.