Oh, Pa!

Weddings. A blissful day, celebrating two people who love each each other until "death do us part." It's a day Hallmark and Kleenex love, but others despise.

Like my Dad.

Dad has always been sarcastic, brutally honest and intimidating to most breathing things. Now add "extra deep-fried temper." (and he's medicated!) This is a lethal, yet entertaining combination.

He's been fretting... check that... slow-burning over my cousin's wedding for several reasons.
#1 Why on Labor Day weekend?
#2 Why on a Sunday? And I quote: "Who fucking does that bullshit?"
#3 Why is the "stupid-ass reception an hour away from the wedding, which even isn't in a church, there's no place to park, and it's in that big city on the Northcoast where scumbags live.....?"

It's my little cousin. And honestly, we'll probably never see him again unless someone croaks. He already knows the arrangements are a little... challenging... cuz a few month ago I asked: "Handed your balls over already? Might as well adjust as soon as possible."

So, Dad calls yesterday out of the blue with a proposition.

DAD: What do you think about renting a limo?
Rita: For what?
DAD: This goddamned fucking wedding I don't want to go to. I'm only going because your Mother and you are. (as if he has no free will.)
Rita: Dad-- that would be really expensive.
DAD: That's not what I asked!
Rita: (almost tinkling in her pants) Sure. Whatever you want.
DAD: Well, I'm not driving my car. It's paid off. I don't know where to park. What if someone hits my car? And, we're taking an armed guard with us.
Rita: What?!?! We're not going into Afghanistan or South Central. This isn't Boyz in The Hood. Please.
DAD: There's nothing but scumbags running around that city.
Rita: Seriously? An armed guard.
DAD: I ain't fucking around.

This from the man that was shot twice in Vietnam. This from the man who stabbed one of his co-workers with a fork in the hand because he made a smart-ass comment about me when I was in high school... Dad may be older, but he's still very large and very much in charge. (As Dad would say: "I may be too old to kick your ass, but you better believe I'm still thinking about it.")

Dad changed his mind about the limo. That's a whole different story.... So, Dad will drive us all to the blessed event... of course, now that he drives completely at the speed limit, it may take a while to get there. I am praying that the reception is open bar. Dad bitchin'; Mom trying to find me a man.... yeah... to quote a friend of mine: "that sucks ass balls." I don't really know what those are or what that means, but I'm presuming it will.

Be kind. Say a prayer.

xoxo,
RiRi

Oh, Ma! Oh, Pa!

It's tradition. The folks come over for any and all holidays, and I cook up a storm. It was no different this Father's Day. We ate. We talked. We laughed. All was well in the world.

It's tradition. Mom and Dad bring back the Tupperware they took leftovers in from the last feast so I can pile more nummies for them to take back home. Usually, my parents throw a bunch of other stuff in the bag: a bottle of Diet Coke; magazines Mom subscribes to but never reads; random clothing items...

But this one takes the cake. For some reason, latex medical gloves were in the bag. I was afraid to ask why. My mind started swirling: Is this a reminder of how I should've stuck with being a doctor instead of dabbler-in-all-things-but-master-of-nothing? Is there a new Father's Day tradition where I'm supposed to check Dad's prostate? And WhyTF do my 'rents have latex gloves in the first place? Are they really playing doctor? Do they break open a box of wine and look at each other's sphincters on a Saturday night?

Needless to say, I needed the box of wine... I might sprout some balls and ask them what the dealio is. But I'm not sure if I really want to know the answer. Cuz really, who just happens to have a box of latex gloves laying around besides a doctor and a hooker?

Oh, God! I know Dad's overtime hours got cut....

Vurp.

xoxo,
RiRi