Why I Tell the Stories in this Family

A couple of days ago, P had a failed blogging attempt when she, in an effort to be funny, wrote about a miscreant child named Marilyn who had blatantly rejected her hand on the way to the daycare bus that day. This surly little girl subsequently went off path, stepped into a huge muddle puddle, and sobbing wet made this plea to the crowded bus "does someone have a napkin so that I can clean off my shoes?" Now, (1) keep in mind that this child is a kindergartener, (seriously between trashbombs and napkins for shoes, what is happening to today's youth) and that (2) I got serious flack for my previous trash bomb post about "hating children." So you can imagine my surprise when P's response to Marilyn was a heckling laugh and a scolding "well I don't feel one bit sorry for you." Guess we all hate children . . . (I handed her a cookie).

Those of you who know P's parents know exactly where her unsympathetic comment comes from: Shugs (P's dad). Shugs has been known, a time or two thousand, to commit such a line to P's lil brother when he, for some reason or another, has exasperated him. Now, if blogs had sound bites, I would be offering my best imitation of poor Shugs right here, and we all would be laughing because his routine is truly comical. He pauses, his bottom lip drops a little bit so that there's a little lisp on the "s" - his voice hits a higher register on the "I" for emphatic appeal and the "bit" hits you like a hammer of pure contempt. If one has perfected the pure synthesis of scorn and exasperation in this line, surely it is him.

In any event, P had wanted to use this post to draw an ironic tension with the little girl's name because that name (as you know) happens to be my mom's. The post started "who names their child Marilyn these days" and simply went downhill from there. As a writing instructor, I cautioned her against publishing this post without revision. I offered some key heuristic strategies that would help her improve the writing, but alas, she (like so many of my freshman) simply gave up (though she was busy, not apathetic).

Initially, I felt a little guilty about my critique. After all, this is her blog too and I felt pretty down in the muck when she told me not to "post on that intellectual crap anymore." I was wretched from my guilt, however, when we received a call from my mom that evening. Wanting to make up for my bad behavior, I started the story in front of P so that she knew (thought) I thought she was funny. I began with a brief context, P was at school...it has been raining...there was this bratty kid and when I got to the name, she cut me off and said "Marilyn, who names their kid that . . . ah eh eh eh (her laugh)" Vindication! VIN.DI.CA.TION!

I knew when my mom made that comment that I had done my job as P's bff. Now I love my mom, LOVE my mom, but she (like P) is not that funny. Or, I should say, they are funny in a special way: in the way that they tell really lengthy (bad) jokes/stories and you laugh because of how hard they are laughing about it and laugh even harder when someone teases them (you know I ham right mom). To be fair, mom and P have surprised me; lately P, has come up with some shockingly funny things (which I will post on later) . . . but for the most part, jokes are reserved for the consistent, often inappropriate, and always hyperbolic characters who if their joke is bad, know that they must take the heat as the next target . . .