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Who's Sorry Now?

I would B.E.G. my mother to play the Connie Francis record(s). Her and Mr. Clean were favorites of my three year old self. But this isn't about Connie. Or Mr. Clean and my weird attraction to bald cartoon men. That is another post entirely. Or mostly.

This is yet another prompt. God gave us free will, you're not required to stick around and read this dreck if you don't want to.

The prompt was: Someone you'd rather be with than your family OR a family meal. Dated 3/22/08.

Thanksgiving 1975
My friend S. was visiting from Alaska. I'd known her since seventh grade, but we weren't really friends until tenth grade. S. was pretty and smart. In spite of me being taller and much less pretty, people thought we were related. We were called liars on at least one occasion when we said we weren't. Oddly, several times even our parents mistook us for one another.

This particular Thanksgiving I also invited my current boyfriend to dinner.

Big Mistake.

He had recently gone AWOL. In the eyes of my military career father this was akin to being the Anti-Christ.
He had shaved his head (see above) which also pissed my father off for some reason.
The third strike: he was late.

When R. came in the door, my father, gracious Southern gentleman that he was, developed a severe "headache", went upstairs and was not seen again for the duration.

To say that things were uncomfortable is a gross understatement.
My mother was in a tizzy, trying to pretend that my father having what basically amounted to a case of the vapors was a common occurrence and he'd be right back to carve the turkey.
She went to get him to come down, but my father was part Georgia mule with a theme song of "We Shall Not Be Moved" and Jesus' second coming wasn't going to get him downstairs.
Not as long as that bald Commie bastard was in his dining room.
Good times.

Several years later, S. came to visit again. The night before she arrived, my darling husband - the bald Commie (did you expect someone different?), told me that she was the one he had really wanted to ask out, but she was going back to Alaska.

The nice thing about my dad, who did not attend my wedding to R. because he had a headache (I'm not kidding), is that he didn't say "I told you so", when R. left me several years later.
And he totally could have.


  1. This R guy--nowhere near good enough for you. Gives me a headache just to read about him.