Earlier this evening I was standing out on the deck enjoying fresh spring air inhaled through a cigarette while The Mister was inside the kitchen preparing his dinner. I was way too busy smoking and drinking vodka to help him. Anyway, we were carrying on a conversation through the screen door, and he was telling me about one of his son's latest academic achievements. My husband, who is about ten years older than I, has two sons from a previous marriage. They are a couple of fantastic young men, and even though I've had virtually nothing to do with their upbringing I will be quick to take absolute and total credit for all of their accomplishments. I can take credit I don't deserve like it's my job. All the glory, none of the work. So convenient!
This evening we were discussing his older son, who will be turning 18 in a couple months. Eventually the conversation turned to some of the more practical matters that all parents have to contend with.
"What do you want to do? You should have some input here. You're his stepmother."
"Um, nuh-uh."
"What do you mean, 'nuh-uh'?"
"I don't think I'm really his stepmother."
"I'm his father. You're my wife. I believe that makes you his stepmother."
"He's almost 18! I'm too young, hot, and vivacious to be the stepmother to someone that age. Right? I'm young and vivacious. And hot!"
The Mister then took his dinner and left the kitchen, calling out over his shoulder that yes indeed, I was young and vivacious. I could have done without the chuckling and the snorting, but one step at a time.
Right at that moment I caught a glimpse of myself in a window. I had a drink in my hand, a lit cigarette in my mouth, and a lopsided ponytail on the top of my head. The muumuu I was wearing further enhanced the beauty. The only thing missing was a smattering of pink foam haircurlers and a can of Colt 45.
I ran over to the door and shrieked, "I'm hot, too! Don't forget the HOT, dammit!"
I'm sure he won't make that mistake again.
This evening we were discussing his older son, who will be turning 18 in a couple months. Eventually the conversation turned to some of the more practical matters that all parents have to contend with.
"What do you want to do? You should have some input here. You're his stepmother."
"Um, nuh-uh."
"What do you mean, 'nuh-uh'?"
"I don't think I'm really his stepmother."
"I'm his father. You're my wife. I believe that makes you his stepmother."
"He's almost 18! I'm too young, hot, and vivacious to be the stepmother to someone that age. Right? I'm young and vivacious. And hot!"
The Mister then took his dinner and left the kitchen, calling out over his shoulder that yes indeed, I was young and vivacious. I could have done without the chuckling and the snorting, but one step at a time.
Right at that moment I caught a glimpse of myself in a window. I had a drink in my hand, a lit cigarette in my mouth, and a lopsided ponytail on the top of my head. The muumuu I was wearing further enhanced the beauty. The only thing missing was a smattering of pink foam haircurlers and a can of Colt 45.
I ran over to the door and shrieked, "I'm hot, too! Don't forget the HOT, dammit!"
I'm sure he won't make that mistake again.
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home