Try to take it easy this weekend. Rest up and
get some frozen wings for the superbowl. Rate the commercials. We
might go to your sister's house to watch the game. I might make a cauldron of
chili. Erika and Mom are begging me to make it mild. Jerry and I just
stare at them in disbelief. Mild chili on superbowl Sunday? Isn't
that a sin or something? Didn't Moses bring down a tablet from the
mountain with the "Shall not's" a long time ago, and one of them I
believe said, "Thou shall not weaken the chili on football
weekends"? I read that somewhere. I think I'll make bologna with
mild mustard sandwiches on white bread (Tip-top) with the crusts cut
off, sliced in triangles, a pickle on the side, for the ladies and
Gkids. I'll be damned if I'll commit a sin at my age. You never know.
I want to go to the pearly gates with a clean slate. Excuse me, I
have to go buy the jalapenos.
When I went online to tell him how funny his email was, we had this exchange on iChat:
Me: I just read your email. You have a knack for it.
Dad: Did you laugh in the right places?
Me: I think so.
Dad: Dinner will be at six. Fly in. I'll pick you up in Farmingdale.
Dad: I thought the email hilarious. I've reread it many times. Still laugh.
Me: let me warm up the Learjet.
Dad: Sometimes the funny stuff just happens. I really don't think a lot about it. A Lear? Impressive!
Me: Why don't I have a Learjet? I ought to. I'm putting it on my Christmas list.
Dad: Probably you didn't like the color.
Me: I'll make sure to buzz your house at Mach 2 before touching down at Farmingdale. That way you know when to leave.
Dad: You need something in a mauve.
Me: mauve? too 70s. i want "Joe Namath Fur Coat White"
Dad: Why not just bail out. You won't have to pay the landing fee.
Dad: Most of the trees are down in our property so there's lots of room for the parachute. Be careful of the cable wire. i want to watch the game tomorrow.
Me: do they have ejection seats on Learjets? Probably an option with the "Super Sport" package -- along with Deluxe floor mats and a special anti-rust undercoating.
Me: better yet, I want the single-seat space ship George Jetson took to work every morning. Folds up into a briefcase.
Dad: You won’t be the pilot. You must have forgotten. You don't know how to fly a jet. I never told you.
Me: I played a lot of video games growing up, piece of cake.
Dad: You have a point. Reconsider anyway. It is dangerous when you pilot a jet. What's the worse that can happen when you play a video game? You don't advance to the next level. But you're still alive.
Dad: I say hire a pilot and you just bail out at mach III.
Me: I’d get chapped at that speed.
Dad: Wear your mittens. It’s cold out there.
Me: lot of wind. I’ll wear a scarf, Red Baron style
Dad: I have to go. Go on line. See if you can find a Learjet manual.
Me: Mom tells me there's no snow there. Better put out an old mattress so I have a target
Me: I want my Learjet with "3 on the tree", baby
Dad: Will do. What size coffin do you want?
Me: just put me in the chili pot, one less thing to wash, and I’ll go out smelling like jalapeños
Me: I'm sure mom is going to love this exchange
Me: you still show her our conversations?
Dad: You bet. She looks at me strangely afterwards. She's way too serious. It’s her German genes.