FIL (Father-in-law) is in town so I'll be (mostly) polite as I tell this since he's a reader and we have some twelve days left of living together to get through this year.
FIL mumbles. And he's Scottish. And we're mostly eating in loud restaurants. Which means we alternate between saying "Eh? What?" And "Pardon?" He tells stories about British TV stars I've never heard of and gets pissy when I have no idea what he's talking about. I tell stories that ramble, have multiple characters he’ll never meet and have no real point or punch line that, even if they did, he wouldn’t understand anyway. As a result, we both punctuate our listening with questions and our stories with repetition. It has gotten to the point where Husband has begun to serve as interpreter. Literally repeating FIL’s sentences to me and my responses back to him. Translating each and every conversation that he choses (is forced) to be part of. On top of my inability to understand FIL, I also have some perverse need to say the most inappropriate things in front of him. It’s like I have a version of Tourette’s but it is a version where I MUST tell the most obscene stories and observations when FIL is around. Like the time I told him an erection joke at a wake. Or the time I was pointing out that the Pink Poodle near our old house in California was a strip club. And then, for good measure, made sure to let him know that you couldn’t drink in the club because the law says that if the girls are all the way naked, there can’t be any booze sold on the premises. These are the types of obscure inappropriate statements that come out of my mouth even as my brain is giggling and yelling “SHUT UP!!!” Which of course matches the silent screaming “SHUT YOUR STUPID FACE!!!” coming from Husband as he tries to catch my eye in the rearview mirror. But I do not. I cannot. I have something wrong with me that must blurt whatever I shouldn’t and keep doing it until someone leaves the room. Add to this FIL’s inability to totally understand me, our tenth year of FIL visits and my inappropriate blurting has gotten worse. Which is why the following random conversation from the weekend was freaking awesome. And I’m totally paraphrasing this because I was laughing too hard to take notes. AND remember that Husband sounds like Shrek and FIL sounds like Sean Connery – or what I imagine Sean Connery would sound like if he mumbled. A lot. Having spotted a sticker on someone’s bumper that said, WE LOVE RODGER, FIL asked: FIL: Do Americans know what Rodger means? HUSBAND: Like “Rodger out”? FIL: Nooooooo. ME (from the backseat): What did he ask? HUSBAND: The bumper sticker. He asked if Rodger means the same thing here as it does in Scotland. FIL: It means something else in Scotland. ME: What did he say? HUSBAND (louder): It means something else in Scotland. ME: Like what? (Tourette’s blurt) Sex? (Silence from Husband. My giggling brain tells me I must blurt louder. So I do.) ME: LIKE SEX??? FIL: Aye. ME: Really? (Husband is shooting me “SHUT UP” eyeballs in the rearview mirror. I ignore them.) FIL: Yes. ME: Like “She rodgered him?” FIL: Nooooooo. ME: Like what? HUSBAND (hoping to shut me up by cutting me off at the pass): You can’t rodger him. (It doesn't work. I know what he means. I chose to ignore it. And him. And the voice in my brain that says I'm going to that crude place.) ME: What do you mean? (Husband is now shouting his “SHUT UP” eyeballs in the rearview mirror at me. I ignore them. Again.) ME: Like what? (Silence from Husband. My brain tells me I must blurt louder and add shagging (f**king) into the mix. ) ME: Is this like shagging? Like our friend shagged this Famous Musician guy, (name obviously redacted), and I was talking to my mom about it and she said that he must have shagged her because a guy can’t shag a girl but I thought it was an equal opportunity thing and girls could shag guys like our friend shagged Famous Musician??? (More silence.) ME: Well, is it like that? FIL: Noooooooo. (Then, because there is seriously something wrong with me and my brain, I said.) ME: Well, what is it? Is it in the ass? (If he could, Husband would have ejected me from the car. Or, if he loved his car less, he would have crashed it to change the subject. And then this happened...) FIL: Nooooooooo. You can rodger a woman but a man cannot be rodgered. !!! And there you have it. After ten years, I have corrupted my FIL to the point where he is not only NOT phased by my inappropriate blurting but he is now contributing to my insanity. And his own. I win.
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AuthorMy name is ej. I'm a girl. I say that because with the short hair and the short initials, folks aren't always sure. More brilliant insights to who I am in About me Archives
April 2019
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