On your first Thanksgiving, you clearly felt blessed by your cousin Josie. So blessed, in fact, that you acted on your perceptions in the living room in front of the children. (The words, “Aunt Nina, Flash plays funny!” will forever echo in my head, and no doubt prompted some uncomfortable conversations in each of my brothers’ households.) You clearly have forgotten how cold the snow was, when you were thrown out into it when it was 15 degrees below zero. Did you also forget the little procedure as soon as we got home which ended in the removal of your boy bits?
Fast forward 7 years. New cousin Trudy, no children present, and you clearly felt emboldened enough to invite her into your bed. Right there in the living room in front of all of us. And she’s only a puppy, certainly making it a crime no matter what state you live in. Forgive me, but that just ain’t right, no matter who you are. Consider yourself separated.
As a child, it was not uncommon for me to spend the night in the hayloft of the barn with 40 of my closest cousins. I grew up in Butte, Montana, where a typical night of entertainment in high school was a tire iron fight on the main drag. I worked my way through school in bars and restaurants, many of them in areas of limited sophistication. I had an internship in the ER, working with people with mental illness and substance abuse problems in moments of crisis. I presently serve Alzheimer’s patients for a living. I have been married for 30 years. I really was beginning to think I had probably seen everything. Until now.
Where in the name of all that is Holy did you find the loofa, and what process in your little pea brain made you think it was a dog toy? Did you use it to scrub the butt feathers off of your hiney? Please tell me you did not use it on either of the cats. And most importantly, where is it now? On second thought, don’t tell me. I’m pretty sure I don’t want to know the answers to any of these questions.