Mom barged into my bedroom on Saturday morning, pulled up the blinds noisily and said it was almost midday, that Coach Raymond had phoned complaining I'd missed the soccer team selection meeting.
"Oh crap," I groaned and said I would have been dumped from the squad.
"No he said you'd be on the bench and would be used only if the team faced humiliation in a thrashing."
Mom turned to commiserate and that's when she saw the ice-pack on my head,
She rushed over presumably to attend to me and she kicked over her best crystal bowl from the hallway table that I'd dumped into at my bedside at approximately 3 am and 4:15 am.
"What's that?" she asked rhetorically, knowing that her cherished wedding gift from her late grandmother had been sent spinning across the polished floorboards.
I practically saw flames erupting from her nostrils and said with a groan, "It's your ugly glass bowl from the hallway."
She asked ominously what the contents were from the bowl that now had the floor half-awash.
Again I replied honestly, "A mix of pizza, salted peanuts, 3-flavour ice-cream and beer consumed earlier and the about one-third of a bottle of Bourbon all in various states of digestion.
My mom Gretchen who's no fairy, weighing in at about 190 lbs. advanced on me with her slapping hand raised and winding back.
"I blurted half-helplessly, "Bess dumped me last night when Michael Reed gave her the come hither look and aghast I began drowning my sorrows."
She halted, her scowl transforming into a big smile.
"That slut has dumped you? Oh Shaun I'm deliriously happy," said my other who is prone to mood swings. However this was a rapid swing of gigantic proportions never before witnessed.
Her slapping hand was disarmed and used to hold my chin softly as she kissed my cheek murmuring "I'm so happy, so happy. Omigod this is even better than sex."
I smiled up at her, pretending I hadn't heard that last bit. I knew she had it in for Bess who was all tips and ass and constantly telegraphed what her main recreational interest was.
Mom sighed.
"Then who are you taking to the office annual dinner tonight? You told me you'd boasted to your IT work group that you would arrive with the hottest date they'd ever seen?"
"Oh Christ," I said in despair. "I have 6½ hours to find a hot substitute; it's Saturday and finding even a half-likely female still unattached for the evening will be impossible."
"Please moderate your language in my home," mom said, although we both knew dad alone had purchased the house almost 15 years ago.
Mom offered to help out and I nodded.
She returned ten minutes later and said triumphantly, "Kitty has agreed to be your partner tonight."
I was shocked.
Kit as most of us called her apart from her parents, mom and her husband, was mom's over-sexed step-sister who'd just arrived home from France where she'd been locked in a 'corrective facility' of some type that no one would talk to me about.
Uncle Ben, who at present was down south on business, had mortgaged the house to pay the outrageous fees. Earlier this week he'd announced to the relieved family that Kitty had been reformed and her behavior was now exemplary.
I took that to mean that my aunt no longer attempted to engage in sex with anything that moved whereas mom told dad that Kitty (who at 29 is only four years older than me) had been stripped of the degenerative psychological condition brought on by being overly spoilt in her upbringing by her drug-dependent bird-brain mother and mum's low IQ father.
A supervisor at the city's sewage treatment plant, his pride became inflated beyond belief when approaching retirement he'd sired one more child.
It took a paternity test result to prove to doubters who included all of my family that indeed my grandfather was the father of the already over-indulged infant.
Perhaps not unexpectedly my mother became one of the over-indulgers when as a baby Kit was left at our house to play with younger me and no that didn't lead to us playing doctor and nurse as our favorite game.
Actually Kit developed into becoming the queen and I was relegated to become her serf and the target for her to throw my toys at. Oh and yes we used to bath together until the time when mom noticed I was developing the start of a boner.
And now a new problem with Kit loomed.
I was about to announce that I would rather die than take Kit to my law office's annual employees' dinner hosted by the partners. But before I chose my words carefully to unleash mom told me to stay in bed while she attended to me mess on the floor.
Understandably I had no wish to reject her arrangement with Kit and be clouted with the steam mop.
