Why he should have just married his mother

It would have saved him a lot of trouble, I think, what with the massive amount of time I spend yelling at him as if I gave birth to him. (In my own defense, I CAN’T HELP MYSELF.) Yesterday, in a nutshell:

3:45 pm, Me: Hey Dad, you wanna come for dinner tonight? [Backstory: Mom’s out of town, feel like I should have him over, safe bet he won’t come because he NEVER does.] You do? Oh, well…good. We’re having chicken. I think.

4:30 pm, BB: Running a little late, probably won’t be home til 7:3o or so. What time is — well there you go, looks like your dad and I will get there at the same time.

5:30 pm, Food Lion Checkout Girl: You know, I never made this golden mushroom soup stuff. What’s it like? What do you do with it? And these don’t look like regular chicken breasts. What are you doing with those? You’re not in a hurry, are you? I just need to run down to Aisle 4 really fast…

6:05 pm, Me: Fuckity fuck fuck WHY IS NO ONE HERE TO CLEAN UP THIS HOUSE? Stop staring at me, cats, I AM ALLOWED TO YELL occasionally.

6:25 pm, BB: Hey, I ran out of gas. Can you come get me? In Goldsboro?

6:26 pm, Me:

6:27 pm, Me:

6:30 pm, Me: I have no words. I simply have no words.

6:45 pm, Me: Tell me where the fuck you are and why the fuck you ran out of gas. And tell me quick before I reach through this phone and strangle you with my bare-but-able hands, you…you…MAN.

6:50 pm, Me: Dad! Answer the phone! I’m on my way to Goldsboro to pick up Brian OFF THE SIDE OF THE ROAD and I need to push back dinner! DAAAAD!

6:55 pm, Dad: Did you call me, Lizzie? I see 3 missed calls, are they from you? Oh he ran out of gas…yeah, that used to happen to me in the Blazer all the time. See, here’s what you do: you tell him to reset the tripometer every time he fills up the gas tank…Hello? Are you there?

7:15 pm, BB: I’m just not sure that I’d be so much mad at you for running out of gas as I would be concerned about your safety. It kind of hurts my feelings that you’re mad at me. I mean, I couldn’t help it, I swear. I thought I could make it, really I did.

7:45 pm, Dad: Mmm, this chicken looks really good Lizzie. Is that corn over there? Well you know I don’t eat corn. Didn’t your mom tell you that I don’t eat corn anymore? She didn’t tell you that we just had this zucchini casserole two days ago, either? Huh. Well, she should have.

And this, Internet, this RIGHT HERE is why I am not having children. Because odds are, I’d have a boy. And then he would grow up to be like these two, and I’m not sure I could reconcile myself to adding another person like that to the world. I’m just not sure…

5 responses

  1. this….is pretty much my life…..

    I feel your pain! My parents live 7 hours away and when they do come into town I offer to cook but they are not picky eaters…they are just paticular and Dad can’t have red sauce and chocolate makes his stomach hurt and I dont really like zucchini on my pizza and OH MY GOODNESS I’M MAKING YOU A FREAKIN MEAL…SHUT UP!

    And my husband…will always be at least 20 minutes later than he said he would be.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s