Weekend conversations and split personalities

Friday, 4:30pm, driving home from work

Received following text message approximately seven times before responding late Saturday evening:

Fisher Price: I need to ask you a question. (x7)

Me: WHAT.

FP: Never mind now. Wanted you to meet my daughter.

Me: Weird.

Self: How in gawd’s name did he father a child? He practically has a vagina.
Self2: That wasn’t nice.
Self: Eye roll. Why don’t you go fuck him again then?
Self2: Why don’t YOU!
Self: Why am I splitting my personality?
Self2: Because you need material for therapy.


Friday, sometime at night, lying in bed not yet asleep, phone rings

Me: Hello?

Person I don’t know: What are you wearing?

Me: Old lady pants.

Person: What?

Me: Does your mother know you’re calling?

Person: Is this Stephanie?

Me: Does Stephanie wear old lady pants?

Person: Steph quit playing around.

Me: This conversation may be recorded for quality assurance.

Click.



Saturday 9:30am, sleeping peacefully, phone rings

Me: Uh.

Cousin K: Are you awake?

Me: Uh.

K: Great. Ok. So, we won’t make it to the church until around 10:30 – 11. We have a lot to do, but I’m running a little behind this morning.

Me: Uh.

K: So don’t rush...

Me: Mumble mumble, fuck off.

K: Thanks for offering to help! See you around 11!



Saturday, around 1pm, making and cutting sandwiches in church kitchen

Me: Why are we wasting all of this bread by cutting these sandwiches with stupid cookie cutters? There are starving cheerleaders at my house.

K: You can take all the bread scraps home if you want.

Me: I refuse to be THAT person...the bag lady...the one that loads up all of the leftovers and waddles away.

K: Ok. We can give them to Larry. (The goose)

Me: Fuck Larry.

K: We’re IN CHUCH. Could you not...

Me: Sorry.

5 minutes later, two big grocery bags are STUFFED with sandwich scraps

Aunt D: What’s in that bag?

Me: Your lunch.

Aunt D: What?

Me: Sandwich scraps. Wasted bread and turkey and pineapple and cream cheese....

Aunt D: I’ll take it. (Picks up bag and waddles away.)

K: (looking at me) Don’t say a word.

Me: Wasn’t gonna!


3 hours later, in kitchen cleaning up, scooping weenies into cup

K: Did you get any cake squares to take home for the kid?

Me: Yep.

K: What are you doing?

Me: Raiding the weenie pot.

K: But you wouldn’t raid the sandwich scraps?

Me: Nope. Weenies beat buns, hands down. (Grin)

K: Why do I even talk to you?

Me: (stuffing weenies in mouth) Dunno.


Monday, The Grandmother’s house, just arriving, walking up path to door

Me: There’s a baby squirrel in front of the steps! Look!

Mom: Squeal, squeal, annoying rabies rant.

The Kid: I wanna see! I wanna see!

TG: (looking through screen door) I’ll kill it! Nasty things!

Baby squirrel huddled against the bottom step staring at loud humans with wide, fearful eyes.

Me: Aw, no Grandma! You can’t kill it! It’s just a whittle baby!

Climbed stairs and faced TG.

TG: (mean face) Well, you can just take it home with you and cuddle it then!

Me: (eyes narrowed) Are you going to be nice today or do I have to leave?

TG: (looking sheepish) Yes! I’m going to be nice to you today! I even wrote it down so I wouldn’t forget!

Me: You had to write down....to remind yourself...to be nice to me?

TG: (entirely serious expression) Yes.

Me: Oooook.

Everyone else: laughing

Self2: Now THAT is a therapy moment.
Self: Exactly.