Rashomon, the beginning
Tonight I have to endure the torture that is dinner with the in-laws. Oh, how to describe it.
Let's see, first we'll be greeted at the door by the family patriarch. He's an alright fellow at first glance, but then you get to know him. He made his money in life the hard way, by saving every penny he ever made and investing it in something safe, like a savings bond. His billfold is tighter than Jocelyne Wildenstein's brow. Had he ever actually taken a risk his net worth would be in the billions instead of the millions. Millions, billions...what's the difference right? He answers the door wearing black socks, blue jeans stained with paint, and a flannel shirt that only Paul Bunyan would wear. Before the evening is over he will be compelled to change into his plaid fleece pajamas. 365 days out of the year he sleeps in full pajama regalia, a long sleeved pajama top over a white v-neck t-shirt, full length pajama bottoms and socks...always the black socks.
He'll give us all a warm, welcoming hug, genuinely glad to see his daughter and grandchildren. But me? Is he genuinely glad to see me? That's debatable. Let's just say it's never an ideal way to get engaged to your fianc? by telling your father-in-law-to-be that "We're pregnant and want to get married." It's always been a spot of soreness and contention that has never quite healed.
We'll be ushered into the kitchen where my brother-in-law and his wife will be sitting on the sofa impatiently tapping their feet and looking at their matching Rolex watches. We're always a day late and a dollar short when it comes to punctuality and they've always got somewhere to be. When you see my brother-in-law's wife one of the first things that comes out of her mouth, right off the bat, is an insult. It's never an obvious insult, mind you. Oh no. It's one of those thinly veiled, said with a smile and a hug insults like "Hey, what's wrong? Are you sick?" Or "Wow, look what the cat dragged in. That's what happens when you ride in the car for an hour." It's a sneaky, crawl up your leg and bite you on the butt before you know it insult that she's mastered like a culinary chef masters a custard.
Physically, she looks like Dom DeLuise in drag. She wears a lot of make-up, more specifically eye shadow, blue eye shadow. She's extremely large everywhere, but unproportionately so. She has small shoulders and a relatively small chest, but from the stomach headed thighward she's gigantic. I can honestly say I've never seen an ass like hers. When you're walking behind it it's almost obscene. It's wide, it pokes out, it jiggles where things shouldn't jiggle and it's so large you can see the cellulite from beneath layers of clothing. It doesn't matter what she's wearing, a dress, a skirt, beneath three inches of fabric, you see it. You automatically get that burning sensation in the back of your throat, you know, the gagging reflex.
I figure right about now you're beginning to feel sorry for Dana, but don't. Let me explain. When Sherry and I got married she quit her job and decided to go back to school. Dana, aka brother-in-law's wife, asked her what she was majoring in. Sherry told her she hadn't decided just yet. Dana then asked my wife, "What about animals? You love animals..." Sherry told her she'd considered that, but vet school was hard to get into and would take a lot of time, which we didn't necessarily have if we wanted to start a family. Dana then laughed in her face and said "I didn't mean vet school silly! I meant you could be a receptionist in a vet's office. You could be a vet helper. Just remember, college isn't for everyone." Need I say more?
Oh, but I will. She belches at the dinner table! After desert she'll call my kids around and say "Hey kids watch this!" Never in my life has something exploded from my body like that. My spoon will be at my lips and she'll do it, causing me to drop my spoon and excuse myself from the table. I know she does it just to irritate me.
Her husband Greg, my wife's brother, is tall and extremely thin. Not a spot of cellulite will you find on his tanned and trim body. Why he doesn't take his wife with him to the gym is beyond me. He makes the rest of us look like lazy slobs. He's always dressed in Kenneth Cole, black or grey, and is in constant motion. I have never seen him sleep. When the rest of us take our after Thanksgiving dinner nap he's out jogging off his meal. I've often wondered if he isn't human and why my wife didn't get his genes.
After the traditional greetings in the kitchen we'll all shuttle into the dining room where a 10 foot custom made table covered with enough food for an army awaits us. At the head of the table you will find my wife's youngest brother already at eat. What do I say about James...James is what you would call that thing you can't describe...you know, indescribable. He's a heavy partier and extremely liberal. The first time I met him he was just getting up at noon while still living at home with his parents at the age of 27. He was bald not because he was bald, but because he shaves his head. He straggled out of bed wearing tattered jeans, red Converse shoes with holes in the toes and his head covered with glitter.
James is definitely a free spirit. He has lived out of the country since my wife and I got married. Nobody knows what he does. He'll disappear for six or seven months at a time and then poof, he's home. The family has speculated that he works for the CIA, is running drugs, or has been in jail. IN college he would work parking cars in Little Rock, take the summers off, and then miraculously have enough money to get a plane ticket to South America and Europe and travel the world by backpack. While gone these 6 to 7 months at a time no one would hear from him, not even a phone call. It was during one of these disappearing acts that his mother died and no one could find him for the funeral. We still, to this day, have no idea where he had been or what he was doing. He drives a bright yellow clunky truck with fire engine red devils painted all over. Why? I personally think he's nuts.
And last, but not least, my step mother-in-law, aka "the trophy wife". After the death of his wife Mr. Daniels went through a major mid-life crisis. When the dust settled my wife found out she now had a new mother...who was old enough to be her sister. The funny thing about Bobbie is even with her fake breasts, injected lips and French tips, she's actually one of the most genuine people I know. She never has a bad word to say about anyone. She religiously lives by the mantra: "If you can't say anything nice, then don't say anything at all." If you didn't know her you'd think for sure she had married J.B. for his money. I mean really, why else would a 36 year old babe marry a 63 year old fart?
If she has a downfall it would be her I.Q. One evening, for fun, we all took an online I.Q. test to settle the score of our egos. Her score? Well, let's just say she came in somewhere around the level of a student in junior high. The sweet girl she is, she immediately began to cry and lament over this finding. We all assured her it wasn't scientific and the scores meant nothing,although I would later print mine out on a certificate and have it framed. What's a guy to do when he scores 154?
On this evening things went exactly as I described above. Bobbie had outdone herself on the food, not that she'd ever cooked so much as a bean, but she was excellent at ordering from the caterer. As I rushed to shovel the last bite of chocolate pie into my mouth before the belching began J.B. stood up and nervously cleared his throat. Little did we know, he had an announcement to make that would leave all of our mouths catching flies for days...
Okay folks, here we go. As of today, the deadline for entries pertaining to this piece is next Friday, November 12th. If you have any questions as to exactly what we are doing, see the previous entry. If you still have questions, just ask. Use your imaginations people! There is no right or wrong way...
Posted by captainhoof
at 1:00 PM CST