Soon Manny's father and stepmonster will be here to check out the new pad. I'm looking around and realizing that it already looks like a House We Live In, complete with strange stuff scattered in the corners and piles and piles of odd paper. Somehow I find this almost satisfying. I mean, really, all the time we were getting ready to move, I thought that being Owners would make us radically different and the Sea Change would result in completely different personalities and lifestyles.
Clearly, this has not taken place. I'm happy to embrace my slobberosity and to note that actually, this place is easier to give a lick and a promise to, since it has fewer rooms. Close enough! Besides, we just moved! It's not unpacked! Heh! Yeah, and the registration's in the glove box! Heh!
Manny's father is, as ever, a study in Myers-briggs types. Since he is my opposite (except that he is also an introvert) and starts conversations with the words "So, What's the Plan For Tonight?" I immediately don't quite know what to say. A plan? Do we have a plan? Do we need one? What plan? Does someone else know about this, because I don't, and is there something I should be doing? I sputter and say whatever comes to mind. "Um, well, I'm sitting here, but I"m not at home! I, um, will go home! And Manny will come home later maybe! And, um, where are you?"
And I can hear him thinking, who is this flake my son married? And why is my son so flakey himself? I mean really, an art degree?
And I'm thinking Plan? What plan? Why do we need a "plan?" Why doesn't he just show up and then we'll figure out what to do? Dude, let's slack! Kick back! Quaff a drink, dude!
Meanwhile, stepmonster is thinking to herself, Twenty minutes to the rental car counter, take 101 to Deadwood, check in. I could use a beer.
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