Welp, I just spent 2 and 1/2 days with my family of origin, which should give me 30 days worth of bullshit to post about. Am still processing, but here are two actual and quoted* conversations from our visit.
1.
During a family argument, my mom got up and went to the bathroom. Middle also disappeared down the hallway.
Thirty seconds later, from the hallway, Middle, yelling: What, you lock the bathroom door now?
Middle returns.
Me, flabbergasted: Did you just try to go talk to Mom while she was in the bathroom?
Middle, sulky: What? Don’t act like you don’t do it.
2.
At the park, Middle was trying to figure out if a tree we were standing under had edible berries. While Middle compared the description on her phone to the tree, my mom picked up one of the tiny berries off the ground.
Middle: Don’t eat that.
Mom: I’m not going to—
Middle: You don’t know if it’s edible. Don’t—
Mom: *still holding berry* I’m not—
Middle: *slaps berry out of Mom’s hand*
Mom: *rolls her eyes at me* I wasn’t going to eat it, dummy.
Me: Um, Mom’s not two.
Middle, to Mom: You eat food from the trash.
Mom, offended: Only if I know what it is.
(Full disclosure, I asked about that. Turns out, Mom sometimes forages yard waste if there are fruits on the cut branches. Middle points out this is still rummaging the bins in front of other people’s houses and eating stuff out of it. Guess you get to be the judge on whether that’s eco-friendly or inappropriate. Mom says if she ever finds fruit that’s really good, she plans on ringing the doorbell and asking what variant of tree they have.)
*They are direct quoted because as they happened, I whipped out my phone to dictate and over objections announced, “I’m blogging this. I don’t care. If you don’t understand why, let me read back to you what you just said.”
BONUS CONTENT
The day before we left to visit my family, I had my hair up in a bun. I’d taken a stress-nap, and when I awoke, I brushed my teeth and pulled the scrunchie out of my hair. THIS fell to the floor at my feet. Tweezers and grout stain for scale.
My husband tried to debate me that it wasn’t a squished black widow. I told him to fuck off with his attempts to lessen my story. I mean, I think the rules are that I am now a character in a Far Side cartoon, which is a bucket list item none of you can out-bucket me on.
If I had the energy (I certainly have the time) I would attempt to out bucket list you in the Far Side column. *hugs because you need them*
1.
Holy shit!
2.
uhhhhhh… huh. Not sure in regards to the fruit. My own mother and aunts will eat clearly overripe, nearly rotting fruit. Foraging in green waste bins is an unclear area for me since mostly what we put in ours, is lawn clippings. I WILL say, that after the grass moulders and stews in the sun for a day or two in the closed environment of the plastic bin, it starts to smell pretty much like sludgy cow poo. POTENT, sludgey cow poo. So I really can’t imagine pulling anything from that environment and thinking, “hmmm…. wonder what this tastes like?”
So…. Holy SHIT!
3.
HOLY SHIIIIIIIT!
You know who really enjoys fallen fruit? Rats. “Nuff said …”
Oh gawd – forgot about the BLACK WIDOW in your hair. I cannot unsee this nightmarish scenario because buns-be-me. You win (so far) with both the story and the cartoon – nice bit of levity in the midst of meltdown.