I think Thumper’s tweet pretty much describes my Sunday.
Yesterday was my weekly visit with my parents. As you know from previous entries, I absolutely adore my folks and I look forward to seeing them each week even though it’s usually an hour filled with tech support, bill paying, more tech support, and a Diet Coke that expired about two years ago when my Dad found a really good sale and bought something like 75 cases, because he knew I liked them when I come over.
From the previous posts of mine and of Thumper’s, I think this is the weekend where we might have un-officially just said “fuck you” to all the naysayers out there, although we have not actually yet discussed it. In my head, my visit with him last week from which I am still smiling – just because, his bisexual wall building thing where we realized that when and if it’s up – a factor beyond his control – we can pull up a chair and have a drink and a good time nonetheless, and through our conversations with our respective spouses and the subtle way the two of them are beginning to be more and more a part of this have all combined into just a feeling of non-romantic comfort where it’s nice to just breathe and not give a fuck.
Because of these things, I don’t think I will be approving any more of the bastardy stuff for my comments because I have wasted enough mental energy worrying about them. Now, the stupid ones? No worries folks, THOSE will still get approved because we all need to worry about what color device will look good on a man who has never worn one, but who is tall, or whether I feel that person, the complete stranger to me, should wear his device to the airport. Wait, I think I just went into Thumper’s blog comments in my head here, but you get my point.
So, back to the original topic about my Sunday with the folks. It was a lovely morning before it stormed here all day yesterday so we sat outside on this giant deck they have looking at the birds, talking about the exact same story Mom has told me every week for six weeks about some woman I have never met, and listening to my father complain, I think to the wind, about a rattle his new van has. You know, the same ole Sunday.
As this was all happening, my email buzzed, my twitter chimed and I looked down to see that it was a post from Thumper. Now, as I usually do, I always give ANYTHING from him a quick scan (inside joke folks), since I am a good boyfriend, but this one made me read it more carefully because, if I was correct, he was describing a scene where I was texting him while he was in bed and on top of his wife. Not the usual stuff. I read it and it apparently made me smile or giggle or something so my Mom looked up and said “What was that? You look happy.”
Now, Mom was firing on all cylinders yesterday, something that does not always occur when you deal with really early dementia, so I just said “oh, it’s a blog post from my friend in Minnesota, Thumper” (fyi, I did use his real name) (double fyi – Thumper is not his real name – we joke but I bet some don’t realize). I don’t know if I was feeling brave, cocky, or just in the happy version of the “I don’t give a fuck place”, so I just said, “It’s kinda cute because he is writing about being in bed with his wife while texting his boyfriend” in the most nonchalant way I could.
From the other side of the deck, my Dad said, “did you say boyfriend or wife?” I replied, “I said both” and just smiled like this was the newest craze they had not yet looked up in the Googler. My Mom was quiet for a second and then, looking really connected to everything, just said “Well, good for them. It’s good to know there are some progressive people in the world not ashamed of themselves” (or something like that. I have to admit I lost focus for a bit wondering what on earth was about to come out of her mouth while I also texted both Thumper and Axel alerting them to the breaking news).
From there the regularly scheduled conversation continued, Dad and I went to look for the rattle, and I was summoned in to help them find The Good Wife on their Apple TV (that little remote is just awful for old people). That took forever despite me stopping to print out step by step instructions in 47 point type and then, out of the blue, my Mom said, “Now who are you going to the ballgame with in California next month?” and I said, “Oh, Thumper, the one we were just talking about”.
That was it. She smiled and we didn’t talk about it again. In fact, she went into the kitchen to cut up some sort of melon, which, along with olives I think were created by the devil himself, and offered me some before I winced. I reminded her that I hate them and then she looked at my Dad and said, “Well, ____, there’s one more thing you two have in common.”
W.T.F? Hmmmmm. I don’t want to know what she meant. I hope she was also meaning olives, but I know he likes olives. Hmmmm.
Anyway, we wrapped up, I left and, as a weird tradition, my Mom and Dad always walk me to my car, stand there while I get in, get it started and back out of their drive waving to me which is followed my my Dad always saying “well, you come back” as if I wouldn’t, but, yesterday, just my Mom walked out and as I got in the car she leaned in and said, “just so you know, we could not be happier that you are so happy. We love you, son. Tell Axel to bring food for Stella when he drops her off tomorrow”.
Simple as that.