Regarding the Conservation of Twine:
[While unloading car full of shoulder bags, garment bags, canvas bags, duffel bags, plastic bags, plastic bins, and many, many, many, many boxes for my parents’ three-night stay.]
JM: Wach!!!! You be careful that one! Don’t drop! And no, too close to ground! Don’t let drag that one! Get dirty! Oh, you going to drop it! No! Put that one first! Other one on top! No! Other one!
AH: Which other one?
JM: Other other one!
AH: This one?
JM: No, that one. I think I put something fragile inside. I don’t want break it.
AH: What on earth do you have in there?
JM: I not sure. I can’t remember. Too many boxes.
AH: This one?
JM: No, that one. You put that box on top medicine chest. You put down there! Right there! [Having recently been apprised that overly-sensitive progeny such as myself need self-esteem bolstering, my mother has recently taken to occasionally providing positive verbal enforcement when I manage to do something particularly clever.] Good girl! That’s good job! [Aggrieved.] Oh, I so sweat! Your father! He never know how to travel light!
AH: [Suddenly spotting Fruit of the Loom underwear elastic wrapped around some of the boxes] OMG . . . is that . . . ???
JM: What’s your matter?
AH: OMFG! Do you have underwear elastic wrapped around those boxes?!?!
JM: So what! Don’t have to spend money on expensive twine. Instead, you cut off when underwear get wear out! Just like big rubber band!
JM: Why you make ajapa face? You probably think you some kind of Rockefeller and so careless, buy twine anytime you want, don’t you? No wonder you can’t afford own house and force your own parents stay in motel! Nobody believe when I tell them you make us stay in motel when come visit you!
AH: Yes. That’s exactly it. My indiscriminate twine-buying habits have brought me to financial ruin.
[Following dinner in my parents’ room at the Comfort Inn involving fried chicken, frisbees, and tin foil.]
JM: [sighing] Oh! We ate it! Don’t you wish you eat fried chicken?
AH: Not really.
JM: Here, you put orange in your handbag. And make sure you hide it when go by front desk. Come from continental breakfast this morning.
AH: Um, okay. Thanks. Oh . . . here’s a bunch of condiments I picked up at the deli.
JM: Oh, you good girl! Such smart for once! Goody goody!
AH: Yeah, I thought you might like that.
JM: Hey, where your father go this time?
AH: I think he took something out to the car.
JM: Always! Always have to wait for him! You have no idea what I put up with! I have to pack all sock and underwear and everything and all he worry about is soda pop! And he can’t remember anything! He left fried chicken in the icebox in Nebraska! Can you believe it? I tell him exactly! I say, Don’t forget fried chicken!!! And then he forget it!
AH: Sounds like grounds for divorce to me.
JM: Hello, divorce! You don’t know what you talking about! First somebody have to want to marry you before you know what you talking about divorce! But nobody can stand put up with you! Such drama queen!
AH: Excuse me?
JM: Yes! All big hysteric and big fight all the time! Such kin-kirree kin-kirree screaming all the time! Make me want go deaf. All the time too, famous big slump from your father side family, and then always you never happy unless make big fight!
JM: Yeah, nobody can put up with you. Only your parents can stand you. So you better buy house and then we come and live with you. But you live in separate apartment. And get rid of your brat cats first.
JM: Oh! Here come your father! I have to pick out sock and underwear for stay in Nebraska motel tomorrow! I bet he don’t know what I talking about. He going to give complete wrong answer. You watch. Try to fight with him is like fighting with tofu!!
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