Today is my baby brother's birthday. I clearly remember the day he was born, was I ever pissed. I had been firmly entrenched in my status as spoiled only child for almost seven years and did not like this threat to my balance of power one little bit. I distinctly remember pressing my parents about how this new baby business was going to impact me - specifically, the size of my allowance and my future stock options.
Twenty-seven years later - the little brat has grown on me. Although, to be clear - I still do not like having to share my stuff AND I still hold a grudge that my parents bought him a car in high school and I had to hitch rides until I could afford my own. But overall, he is a good brother, all things considered. Little bro lives in Florida now. He likes to share stories about things people do in Florida - like, make moonshine and wrassle gators and host weddings to which the guests wear jean overalls and drink the moonshine and then wrassle gators (his stories - not my stereotypes). He also likes to imitate the speech of his new buddies in an exaggerated Southern twang, which is devastatingly funny.
While at a party over the holidays, my brother gets up from his seat to head for the restroom and loudly announces, "I gotta take me a TANKLE." I could not stop saying this: For the rest of the night, I would walk toward the ladies room solely so I could say "TANKLE" out loud and then laugh for ten minutes (I know - I seriously need a hobby, right?). But it was gosh-durn funny. I DARE you to say it the next time you enter a restroom and see if YOU don't, at least, snicker a bit.
A few days later, Jeff, Ethan and I are having dinner with my in-laws. Some background on the in-law relationship: They are nice people and while they do not actively dislike me, per se - I do think they are somewhat confused by my existence. They are conservative, quiet, and subdued. I ... well ... am not those things. During the first few years of my relationship with my husband, I found all this quietness unsettling. Especially during dinner, when I was used to loud stories and elbows on the table and all sorts of general insanity. It is a running joke in my family that we put the "fun in dysfunction", as we toast ourselves with margaritas and listen to Jimmy Buffett music. That is, until someone starts yelling and throwing the Waterford. Much less fun, then.
To compensate for the calm, I tried extra-hard to be funny and talkative and tell stories to fill in the quiet -- not unlike a spazzy golden retriever puppy that will do anything to get you to throw its bone and scratch behind its ear. My eagerness to be *on* resulted in many cringe-inducing awkward exchanges. My husband is still amused by some of my greatest hits, such as the time I told a story about one of my friends. My close female friend was in a serious relationship with a woman and had been reluctant to tell me for fear it would impact our friendship. This was crazy, I told the in-laws - I LOVE my friend, nothing would change that. And women. Women are the best. In fact, if I were not marrying their son maybe I would date a woman. But probably not. But maybe. If other people date women - or men! - that is GREAT - I love women that love women or men that love men! There should be more love in the world! Don't you agree?!
Over the years I have deduced by process of humiliation that my best strategy during in-law visits is to sit there and shut up. Speak when spoken to. Avoid stories, avoid politics, avoid controversy, avoid jokes. I can usually do this for, oh, 4-5 hours, at which point all this restraint becomes almost physically painful for me and it is all I can do to keep the "freak" in me bottled up.
At our most recent get-together, I was rapidly approaching the 5-hour mark and getting a little panicked. We had just had a successfully non-controversial dinner in a restaurant and were about to head home. Jeff takes Ethan to the restroom and I am left in the lobby, ALONE AND UNSUPERVISED, with the in-laws. Instead of something normal and benign, what do I say?
"You know what is funny - my brother was saying 'I gotta take me a tankle' when he goes to the restroom. Now Ethan is saying it! Isn't that funny? TANKLE! Get it - like 'tinkle' but Southern?! Like his friends in Florida - SO funny!"
My mother-in-law practically gags and replies in absolute horror, "Do people in Florida REALLY say THAT?"
So, thank you little bro, for expanding my cultural horizons. I LOVE that you say *tankle.* Happy b-day - I hope it is full of gators and moonshine.
Twenty-seven years later - the little brat has grown on me. Although, to be clear - I still do not like having to share my stuff AND I still hold a grudge that my parents bought him a car in high school and I had to hitch rides until I could afford my own. But overall, he is a good brother, all things considered. Little bro lives in Florida now. He likes to share stories about things people do in Florida - like, make moonshine and wrassle gators and host weddings to which the guests wear jean overalls and drink the moonshine and then wrassle gators (his stories - not my stereotypes). He also likes to imitate the speech of his new buddies in an exaggerated Southern twang, which is devastatingly funny.
While at a party over the holidays, my brother gets up from his seat to head for the restroom and loudly announces, "I gotta take me a TANKLE." I could not stop saying this: For the rest of the night, I would walk toward the ladies room solely so I could say "TANKLE" out loud and then laugh for ten minutes (I know - I seriously need a hobby, right?). But it was gosh-durn funny. I DARE you to say it the next time you enter a restroom and see if YOU don't, at least, snicker a bit.
A few days later, Jeff, Ethan and I are having dinner with my in-laws. Some background on the in-law relationship: They are nice people and while they do not actively dislike me, per se - I do think they are somewhat confused by my existence. They are conservative, quiet, and subdued. I ... well ... am not those things. During the first few years of my relationship with my husband, I found all this quietness unsettling. Especially during dinner, when I was used to loud stories and elbows on the table and all sorts of general insanity. It is a running joke in my family that we put the "fun in dysfunction", as we toast ourselves with margaritas and listen to Jimmy Buffett music. That is, until someone starts yelling and throwing the Waterford. Much less fun, then.
To compensate for the calm, I tried extra-hard to be funny and talkative and tell stories to fill in the quiet -- not unlike a spazzy golden retriever puppy that will do anything to get you to throw its bone and scratch behind its ear. My eagerness to be *on* resulted in many cringe-inducing awkward exchanges. My husband is still amused by some of my greatest hits, such as the time I told a story about one of my friends. My close female friend was in a serious relationship with a woman and had been reluctant to tell me for fear it would impact our friendship. This was crazy, I told the in-laws - I LOVE my friend, nothing would change that. And women. Women are the best. In fact, if I were not marrying their son maybe I would date a woman. But probably not. But maybe. If other people date women - or men! - that is GREAT - I love women that love women or men that love men! There should be more love in the world! Don't you agree?!
Over the years I have deduced by process of humiliation that my best strategy during in-law visits is to sit there and shut up. Speak when spoken to. Avoid stories, avoid politics, avoid controversy, avoid jokes. I can usually do this for, oh, 4-5 hours, at which point all this restraint becomes almost physically painful for me and it is all I can do to keep the "freak" in me bottled up.
At our most recent get-together, I was rapidly approaching the 5-hour mark and getting a little panicked. We had just had a successfully non-controversial dinner in a restaurant and were about to head home. Jeff takes Ethan to the restroom and I am left in the lobby, ALONE AND UNSUPERVISED, with the in-laws. Instead of something normal and benign, what do I say?
"You know what is funny - my brother was saying 'I gotta take me a tankle' when he goes to the restroom. Now Ethan is saying it! Isn't that funny? TANKLE! Get it - like 'tinkle' but Southern?! Like his friends in Florida - SO funny!"
My mother-in-law practically gags and replies in absolute horror, "Do people in Florida REALLY say THAT?"
So, thank you little bro, for expanding my cultural horizons. I LOVE that you say *tankle.* Happy b-day - I hope it is full of gators and moonshine.
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