God these titles just get worse and worse. No wonder someone just came to my site after searching for “fingernail porn.” Seriously, somebody stop me.
I’m going to take off on a tangent before I even get to the meat of the post (she said meat). Close your eyes and envision – oh hell that’s not going to work. You can’t read with your eyes closed. Try just closing one eye and do a little picture in picture action combining text with the scene I’m about to describe. This is already more work than the joke is worth. Shocker.
So it’s a sticky August evening in Dixon, Illinois. The Middleton Family is gathered together in my Aunt’s family room/kitchen. People are everywhere – cleaning the cook top, packaging up leftovers, crowding around the table, perching on the arms of the easy chairs already filled with other relatives, crouching on the hearth of the fireplace, huddling on the floor with only a narrow path for foot traffic. We’re a big family.
My brother Thom may or may not have consumed several beverages of the alcoholic variety. Somehow the subject of gift giving arose. Mom mentioned something about a style of bracelet she adored. Thom said, “Well Mom, if you’re lucky, maybe Dad will give you a pearl necklace when you get home.”
I heard a piece of Tupperware clatter to the floor and Rocco started laughing in a pitch too high for human ears to register.
Mom’s brow furrowed as Dad turned a shade that I can only describe as aubergine. “Why is that funny?” she asked.
By now, anyone under the age of fifty and all the males were giggling. Mom looked me straight in the eye and sternly repeated her question, “Why is that funny?”
“Oh c’mon Mom, you know what a pearl necklace is,” Thom responded.
She ripped her eyes off of me and bore them into Thom as she retorted, “I most certainly do not!” Eyes back on me she continued, “Do YOU know what a pearl necklace is?”
I chewed my bottom lip, desperately trying not to laugh and nodded slowly.
“Do YOU know what a pearl necklace is?” she asked over and over again while interrogating the room of relatives. She was answered with more giggles and nods.
Dad’s laughter had slowed enough that he was breathing again. Mom pointed at him as she barked, “Bob, YOU don’t know what it is, do you?”
His shoulders shook as his aubergine head bobbed in the affirmative. The relatives giggled. Thom gloated. Rocco cackled. I squirmed. Mom pouted.
Suffice it to say, she knows now. I hope Dad didn’t provide her with visual aids, but I wouldn’t rule it out.
Now that I’ve ensured Mom will yell at me the second I open the front door, I can return to the actual story for today. I was out last night with the 43 year old un-named male. We were people watching and were both entranced by a slutty librarian at the next table.
She was rocking her look hard. Her jet black hair was pulled into a messy bun on top of her head with a red Paper Mate pen protruding from between her shiny black locks. Beneath a modest black cardigan, she wore a white button down shirt unbuttoned for maximum cleavage exposure. Her gray plaid skirt was about four inches shorter than modesty should allow. Black tights and clunky boots completed the ensemble.
Slutty Librarian was flirting shamelessly with another guy at her table. We enjoyed the show and offered our own color commentary.
Me: “Sheesh, could she be any more obvious?”
Un-named Male: “Maybe it’s a new bra and uncomfortable.”
Me: “Um, no. She’s totally playing with that button solely to make him look at her boobs. Chicks do that. I promise.”
Un-named Male: “Huh.”
Me: “And that big pearl bracelet is pretty ridiculous.”
Un-named Male: “Why? It matches her necklace.”
Me: “She has a pearl necklace?”
Un-named Male: “Uh huh.”
Me: “I don’t see it.”
Un-named Male: “She is.”
Me: “Oh wait! I see. It’s like a little gold strand with a handful of pearls spread about. That doesn’t count.”
Un-named Male: “It does in my book.”
Me: “It’s not a string of pearls.”
Un-named Male: “I’m 43. You don’t get a string of pearls.”
I’m on the road for the next several days for some quality bonding time with the family. No promises as to how regular I’ll be, what with the travel and all. I’ll eat lots of fiber though and bring Bubba (cutest netbook ever!) along just in case blogging opportunities arise. By the time I return, I expect you all to have perfected your kazoo rendition of In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida. Try this version, it’s only seventeen minutes long.