For Shits and Giggles

I had to go to my husband’s boss’s birthday party this past weekend.  The drive on the way to the party was the highlight of the trip.  Immediately when I get in the car Mike snaps, “Is this my car charger for my phone”?  I told him no and then he says it was the one from his car and blab blab blab fart bla blarp.  I reply, “DOES IT FUCKING MATTER!”  Then he accuses me of stealing his phone charger and he knows it’s his and bla blarb fart woopie.  I tell him that yes, I did take that fucking charger out of his fucking car because it was my charger that I had put in his fucking car when I had to drive the fucking dirty 4-runner and that I took it out when I was done.   Anyway, when we got home I went directly to the fucking bag from Verizon on top of the fucking refrigerator and pulled out the fucking charger he never took out of the fucking box when he bought his fucking phone and I hand it to the ass hat.  And I win. 

And then I lost.  I’m pretty sure the host of the party tried to poison me as I spent the remainder of the day getting to know my toilet more intimately. I wasn't all that concerned with my health as I was the septic system that failed over a month ago and we are just waiting for a river of poop to flow downhill into our neighbor’s yard.  It’s okay, they’re renters and I really don’t like the landlords anyway because they moved away 2 years ago and left behind their mean ass cat, Simba, because according to the douche bag that lived there, “he’s a neighborhood cat anyway”.   Something I realize from almost dying at the hands of my husband’s boss’s wife’s choice in catering is, it was probably the scallops and it wasn't as bad as the time my grandma tried to kill me with zucchini.  That was the first time I ever got food poisoning  and I just started to eat zucchini again after 30 years; but let me just say that if you are ever going to be poisoned by someone it better be your grandma because you might kill anyone else.  

  

There were a few rules at grandparent’s house.  

Not rules imposed by my grandparents, rather my mom and dad. 

1.  Never drink out of an open container.  That’s grandma’s special OJ/fruit juice/soda in the fridge.  Especially since the time my brother took a big swig of OJ from the fridge and had to sleep it off for the remainder of the weekend. 
2. Used pipe cleaners are acceptable toys.
3. If you are near the tennis court and you don’t have a tennis racket you are automatically the ball boy/girl and you better get the fuck out of the way during a match.
4. Don’t change the channel.  It’s been on the same channel for 50 years.  You’ll watch golf or tennis and you’ll like it.
5. The only safe food to eat in the house is in the oven.  The oven is never used.  It’s where the windmill cookies are.  It might actually be the only food in the house. 
6. The cast iron ice crusher will be the closest thing to the Snoopy Snow Cone Machine you will ever have so deal and get grandpa another drink.    
7. Any time grandma takes you out in the woods to “transplant” flowers you are committing a federal offence.  Those are endangered wild orchids so don’t get caught. 

I was born on my grandma’s birthday and she insisted that I be named Viola, after her.  Mom and Dad named me Susan.  It made for some pretty awesome birthdays though, well at least until she started to lose her marbles.  She started to give used birthday and holiday cards and she would just cross out the other person’s signature and sign it.  One time she gave me a pink box of baking flour with a swan on it.  It was opened and old and had dead bugs in it. My mom was pretty sure they hadn’t made that brand in 20 or more years.  One time my mom agreed to let grandma prepare and bring the Christmas dinner to our house.  This, we all thought, was the biggest mistake ever as the only thing we ever saw grandma actually make was a mixed drink.  She lost the entire Christmas dinner, trimmings and all, on the hour long drive to our house.  My dad thinks they probably left it on the top of the car.  

Me and my grandma on our birthday.  

Now that I look at her, she kind of reminds me of the Queen.  

I bet the car ride home that night for grandma and grandpa was pretty close to the car ride Mike and I had on the way to the party.  I also think that my husband underestimates my extremely short northern girl temper.   Sure; There wasn't a snow storm and it wasn't Christmas and I didn't lose Christmas dinner; it was my fucking phone charger and I was fucking poisoned and I was right. Close enough.