Cussin’ Like Grandpa
The guys running for President were on TV last night. I didn’t watch them yelling at each other and arguing with the people asking the questions, but I sure heard about this morning.
Grandpa came over for breakfast.
He always comes over on Fridays because that’s the day my Mom makes waffles and sausage and tamagoyaki — which are kinda like Japanese omelets. She learned how to make them as a little girl from her mom. And now she’s trying to teach my sister Kendra how to make them.
Judging by the screaming and crying this morning, the lessons aren’t going so well. If I had to guess, I’m thinking that Kendra’s kids — assuming she could ever find someone willing to marry her which seems almost inconceivable to me — will not be eating tamagoyaki on Fridays. Or on any day of the week for that matter.
I eat them and compared to some of the other things that my Mom likes to eat, it’s not too bad. Her tamago used to be too eggy for my tastes. But now she’s learned to slip a little bacon in between the layers of egg and drizzle them with maple syrup and we all are much more enthusiastic about Friday breakfasts. She calls it, “Tamagoyaki a la Ko Ko.”
Anyway, Grandpa was eating his waffle and telling us about the debate. Which can be a very hazardous combination.
Sharing a table with Grandpas is always an adventure of sorts. He has an uncanny knack for getting little bits of food stuck in the corner of his mouth and they usually stay there for the entire meal. Which is super gross. I spend the whole time trying not to look in his direction.
He also tries to talk and chew at the same time, so there’s a lot of other little bits of food flying around the table. I try to get a seat as far from him as possible and, whenever feasible, situate the table centerpiece between the two of us to act as a defense shield. I wish I was like Captain Kirk and could just tell Mr. Sulu to raise the deflector shields. Meals with Grandpa would be a lot more enjoyable
And when Grandpa really gets excited, he punches at the air with his fork. Almost as if he’s trying to stab some invisible monster hovering over his plate. That’s when the food can really begin to fly, because his fork is occasionally still loaded with waffle or tamagoyaki when he starts stabbing the air.
My Mom gets pretty exasperated when he does that. Ben and I just laugh our guts out. Especially that one time at dinner when Grandpa’s mashed potatoes hit Kendra right between the eyes. That was one of the five best meals of my life — and the food wasn’t even particularly good that night.
So when Grandpa’s a little excited or agitated — like he was this morning — the bits of food are shooting everywhere. Ben actually wore his raincoat to breakfast. Between what gets left in the corner of this mouth, and what gets spit or thrown around the table, I’m not sure that Grandpa is really getting enough to eat anymore. He is very thin. And seems to be shrinking a little every year.
Well, in the midst of all the flying food and waving forks and Mom and Kendra yelling at each other, Grandpa suddenly blurts out, “This whole damn country is going down the shitter!”
Now it was my turn to spit out my waffle. Did Grandpa just say a cuss word in front of Mom!? Two cuss words to be exact. Holy you’re going to be in time out forever, Grandpa!
I looked over at Mom, still cooking in the kitchen, and she froze. I froze. Everyone froze. Except for Grandpa who was now saying something about Chris Christie’s fat ass and a bridge in New Jersey. Don’t ask me why. A lot of what he says makes no sense at all.
I expected Mom’s head to explode. But after a moment, she very calmly turned and said, “Grandpa, I don’t believe that’s appropriate language at the breakfast table.”
What?! “I don’t believe that’s appropriate language”? That’s all she’s got? The woman who smacked me on the head last week for saying “turd”? Wow! I can’t wait until I’m 100 years old and can cuss anywhere and anytime I want. Because believe me — I will. And I know a LOT of cuss words now. Kyle found a list of them on the internet.
Ben and I were trying super hard not to laugh out loud at this point because — and this is the really messed up part — Mom would get really mad at US for laughing. Grandpa says “shitter”, and we get in trouble.
That is so damn typical of the life as a kid.