My Mommy's House

Sitting on the bed that was my grandmother's. It's an old comfy bed. Like sleeping on a cloud. Some people would think it too soft, but not I! Has REAL springs from the old days! Snuggly nice. I wake up to the smell of breakfast cooking. Mommy singing, "Tessie boo! Time to get up!" Oh it's so fun to be loved.

Mom and Dad are fun to watch. They putter around the house, doing their little chores. At one point, I was cutting Dad's hair, when sister get-along-home-Cindy arrives with some sort of gadget in her hand. She says, "I don't like your nozzle, Dad, so I thought you might want to try this one." He looks at me and I say, "Cin, let's not talk about our father's nozzle!" Ha ha. After the salon session is over, we go into the kitchen and Mom is standing there with a ruler. She bends down to measure something around my father's ... well ... nozzle! He says, "What are you measuring?" She says, "I want to see how long your shorts are because I was going to buy you some new ones." (For those of you from foreign lands, we call short pants "shorts" here in the U.S.) She stands up and smartly states, "Seven inches." I can't even imagine what it would be like for someone to come up to me with a ruler for any reason at all. Silly people.

So today, we will have everyone over for hot dogs and hamburgers and margaritas. Probably play a board game or two. Oh wait, Becky isn't here. She's the board game queen. Maybe tomorrow!

But here's the real story. When I arrived last night, we decided to go to Applebee's to feed Graci, who was starving. Graci is my niece. Erika (baby sis and Graci's mum) and Katie (another niece) joined us. I wasn't hungry, but I did order their special white peach sangria. And the waitress asked me for I.D. I'm not fuckin' kidding you. Well of course, at 46, it's a pleasure to show your I.D., right? Well do you think I had my I.D.? Noooo! I used it at the airport, so I had left it in my other bag! Hahahaha. I swear to God, she almost didn't sell me the fucking drink! Everyone at the table said, "Well I have I.D.! Sell it to me!" Now don't get me wrong. This waitress was as cute as can be. And I began to nervously tell her the story of why I didn't have my I.D. (as if I were being interrogated by the FBI) saying that I just flew in and I live in California, and I was from here, and this is my sister and these are my nieces and I'm just visiting, as I said, but I grew up here, as we all did here at the table... and as I rambled, she became more nervous about having pressed me for my proof of age. I just kept thinking, "Can you just go away so I can stop this endless chatter that I can't seem to keep from pouring out of my mouth?" She finally conceded to giving me the drink, but only if I promised to eat food off of the other people's plates (Utah's other-plate law).

Erika said, "Teri, you went a little overboard with the TMI there."

It was a good drink, though.