So after my grandmother passed, my bio-mom’s side of the family has sort of… lost touch. It’s nobody’s fault really– grandma was our focus, and she was a woman of large personality and formidable will. Someone had to take charge, but she raised a bunch of independent wandering souls– it’s been a conundrum.
Anyway, my Aunt Monica took charge and said, “We’re meeting for dinner, here, at 6:30–no gifts!”
But Mate was making fudge, and I had the most adorable gift boxes, and so everybody got fudge.
And I was feeling pretty good about that–I admit it.
Now those who read The Virgin Manny may vaguely remember the guy who hired Artie. Artie was (as many people suspected) based on my oldest son, Big T, and the guy who hired him–Phil–is a dead ringer for my uncle, who hired Big T to work in his small warehouse.
Big T gets along very well in his job.
Seriously– he works hard, he’s kind, and my Uncle Phil and Aunt Barbara are also kind, and in a way, it’s been really awesome because there’s a link to that side of the family that I wouldn’t ordinarily have.
Anyway–
Barbara is scary competent.
T says she does the work of five people in the office and I believe him.
Her home is lovely–flawless and originally decorated, and homey and warm.
Her two sons–full grown now–are kind and charming and handsome and thoughtful
Scary. Competent.
Well, tonight, after I gave everybody their fudge and sat down next to Barb, she turned to me and said, “You guys have to come over for dessert afterwards. I’ve got presents.”
“No gifts,” I said, a big panic light going off in my head.
“You brought fudge. You broke the rule first.”
*panic panic panic*
Well the gifts were awesome–and dessert was wonderful, and we had pictures taken of the family together and generally it was an awesome time.
But I’m not going to forget or forgive.
Next year, I’m frickin knitting.
