I had lunch with my friend RB yesterday. She is moving to Minneapolis next weekend. I’m sad. But lunch was fun and we gossiped and laughed and she turned down my offer to help her organize and pack. That was great – because I didn’t actually want to help her organize and pack. I hate packing and I’m not a good organizer. I am, however, a good friend and so I made the offer. Had she taken me up on it, I would have suffered silently. To her credit, she probably knows me well enough to know that I was hoping and praying she would say no – which makes her a good friend.

I have a(nother) huge homework assignment due today that I have not started – but I have done the reading. For whatever reason, I just cannot get into the groove this time. In fact, that’s why I’m writing this instead of writing that. I don’t want to write any of it. I have lived a very long time without knowing what a ‘biome’ is. I could easily go the rest of my life without doing a slideshow presentation on the biome of my choice – because yes, there is more than one.

One of the bloggers I read asked for quick, short stories and so I started thinking about stuff that’s happened over the years – quick little Youtube movies. Probably my favorite story ever involves my dad – whose sense of humor was very, very dry – drier than mine, drier than my mother’s. In fact, an old friend of mine inserted herself into these stories and tells them as if she were there, which she was not. That strikes me as very odd, but it is a compliment to my father – everyone wanted to be there for one of his one-liners.

When I was in high school – which I point out only because I was certainly old enough to know better – my dad went out and bought some cheap little throw rugs. You can find them at Walmart – the multi-colored woven rugs that go almost anywhere in your house. My dad tossed one in front of the kitchen sink and one in the doorway between the kitchen and the dining room. He was working at the dining room table when I came in from school and I went to the kitchen to get a glass of water. I noticed the rug. (This is the part where “I knew better” comes in).

Instead of saying, “Oh, this is a pretty rug. Where did you get it?” which is what I meant, I said, “What’s this?”

He didn’t look up and answered, “It’s a rug.”

I stared at him for a few seconds because I was trying to think of something smart to say. “I know it’s a rug, asshole,” was not on the list of retorts I could safely use.

Then he finally looked up at me and said, “Taste it.”
Game, set, match.

When I first started working full time, I was still living at home and since I worked near my mother’s office, we rode to work together. Someone did something that sent me over the edge – and if you think I’ve got a hair-trigger now, you should have seen me then. I’ve mellowed. A lot.

I bitched about it (whatever it was) all the way home, into the driveway, up the steps, across the porch and into the house. I didn’t stop complaining when I got into the house, but just kept building steam. My father was sitting at the kitchen table. He didn’t say anything to me. He picked up a pencil. I continued to vent, using colorful language and probably exaggerating the details. My mother came in behind me. She didn’t say anything, either. I finally stopped to take a breath and my father handed me the piece of paper he had been drawing on. On it was a caricature of Lucy, with a text balloon coming out of her mouth. Inside the balloon were the words: I SUPPOSE YOU THINK IT’S EASY BEING A BITCH!
Game, set, match.

That’s the story my friend tells as if she were there. Wouldn’t you?
I still have that drawing.
He would’ve known what a biome is, too.

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