"June, will you come stand at the basement door while I go down there?" Mom asked.
"?"
"Because at night I get scared down there. Harry usually does it but since you're here..." Why are children the indentured servant for life?
"Like, you're afraid Regan from The Exorcist will grab your ankle from under one of the tables down there, or what?" I asked.
"STOP."
As mom descended the stairs and was out of my sight, I creaked, "It's an excellent day for an exorcism."
"STOP!" yelled Mom.
I suppose, then, it wasn't nice of me to have turned my pajamas backward for when she came back, and be turning my head slowly, with a grin. BUT WHO COULD RESIST? Who? Gandhi would have run with that joke.
Oh, also? My mother has had this thing installed, this chair that she can ride up and down the stairs like Whatever Happened to Baby Jane. I am riveted by that thing. Mom laughed at my backward head all the way up on her ride. Her side-saddle ride. One day Ima put on as much makeup as possible, with pigtails, and take a photo of me riding that thing.
I've done so many things on this visit, and taken so many photos, that I think I should break this up into two parts so you don't lose your mind and start being scared of the basement. So let's make a rule that I'll stop talking after I've shown you four photos. Or so. You know how linear I am.
I stampeded to my friend Ann, Nan and Amy's house to see her new kittenses. (She began dating my friend Greg in, Ima say, 1989. Shockingly, we met her at a bar. Greg introduced her, and after she left, my friend Esmerelda heard her name as Nan, I heard Ann and my friend Gertrude heard Amy. I actually have no recollection of who heard which name, but I like how in this story I made myself the correct one. The point is, we've called her Ann, Nan and Amy ever since. Even the calligrapher for my wedding had to send an envelope addressed to Greg and Ann, Nan and Amy.)
KITTENSES!!!! Oh, they are so cute. They were deciding on names and so far have come up with nothing. Suggestions?
I think any kitten-related photos count as all one photo and not four. Don't you? This is how my diets work, as well.
This is Greg and Ann, N and A's child, who did not wish to be photographed, as she is from one of those "photos steal your soul" tribes. Alternatively, she is somewhere in the teen or preteen age group. She is somewhere between 18 months and 20 years old.
Also, Greg and A/N/and A have an ancient house that they are forever refurbishing. They are like Eldon on Murphy Brown.
In summary, I love kittens.
Nope. Doesn't count. Plus, you can't have too many kitten pictures.
After that, I went to Hulk's. When I pulled up, I could see him watching sports on the world's most enormous TV. This is pretty much what I picture Hulk doing 87 hours a day.
Yup. I'm at Hulk's.
"I'll turn this down. I suppose we have to TALK," he groused, when I walked in. And talk we did. We discussed the pressing issues of our time, or alternatively, our sex lives. They were short conversations.
I'd better go. I leave today, and have to shower and pack the 2394853204 things my mother has left on my bed. Does your mother do this when you visit? Dish towels, magazines, my gramma's old ashtray. Then she complained that I pack my suitcase too full. How DARE I bring three changes of clothes for three days when I KNOW I have to also pack the Christmas-themed potholders that she's gonna give me?
Tune in tomorrow for photos from my childhood, coverage of my visit with Aunt Mary, and whatever complaining I have to do about my flight. I really know how to get the reader begging for more.
The sow is mine.
June
