Mom and Dad went to Chattanooga this weekend for their anniversary. Hey guys, which one by the way? Was it the big 2-5? Because I thought you were supposed to have a big blowout with other people for that one. Or maybe that's just if you're not having sex anymore. Hee. Don't hurt me.
Anyway, I find it mildly amusing that I seem to talk to my parents more when they're on vacation than I do when they're in town. Every half-hour or so I'll get a call from one of them which I can only assume serves to rub in my face how great a time they're having. How they manage to always catch me in the middle of doing laudry or watching a really bad SciFi movie because it's the only thing on or some other mundane thing that makes me wish I too was on vacation is a gift I shall never comprehend.
So intermittently over the weekend I'm getting calls saying various things like:
"This is a great hotel! If you can afford it, you should totally stay here sometime."
"Man, there's this great rib place you should really check out."
"We caught this live show on the riverfront. Boy did we pick a good weekend!"
I'm used to this. I just dream that one day, they'll be old and decrepid and Chris and I will be jetsetting and calling them in the middle of the latest episode of The Price is Right (which will still be featuring Bob Barker although perhaps without eyeballs or skin) and letting them know how great Venice is in the spring. Wish you were here! Kisskiss.
But this time? This time, they went too far. Perhaps had I been there to handle it myself, I could've maintained a semblance of control over the situation, but alas, I was working (working on a Saturday...brilliant...HOW DO THEY KNOW?) and Chris answered the phone. He called me at work and said simply, "I hate your parents."
"You hate my parents?"
"I hate your parents."
"What did they do?"
"They invited us to Chattanooga, to a brewer's festival."
"What?!"
"They said they'd pay for the hotel."
"WHAT?!?"
"...If we drop everything and come right now."
"But...you have to work today."
"I know."
"And I have to work today."
"I know."
"And you have to work tomorrow."
"I know."
"I hate my parents."
You guys just give us a few decades. Someday, one of you is going to break a hip and it will be on that day that we invite you to go hiking with us in Colorado.
In their defense, they brought us home some delicious dark brew, the kind that's so fresh and untainted by preservative that it has to be consumed within three days or it just won't be the same. Which was probably a selfish gesture, seeing as it was the only factor which saved them from the involvement of a lead pipe.
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3 comments:
Or maybe it was the big 2-3,...no wait, how old are you again Liz? Or maybe it was the big 2-6 because someone was battling so fiecely with IVAN the Terrible on their big 2-5 that they didn't think to notice...in any case its true that they didn't need a crowd to enjoy themselves. Everyone is entitled to indulgences on their big 5-3.
P.S. The brew has strings attached, we expect a refill.
I stand corrected. We can be even because I forgot to tell Dad happy birthday. Dammit, September is becoming the new March.
Liz, you totally need to sign up for one of those web calendars that sends you an e-mail when there's a birthday you need to remember!
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