Every Monday night, whether I need to or not, I call my parents at their retirement hacienda in South Florida, where they spend their days sitting at the beach, taking in movies, and telling anyone who asks, or who even looks interested, that they have no idea who I am.
I can understand why they’re reluctant to be associated with me. After all, they’re fine, upstanding citizens who worked hard and planned carefully towards a justly-earned retirement. I’m sure they get kind of concerned when I tell them that my retirement plan to was less about liquidating a 401K than selling liquid AB negative.
I will give my Mom and Dad credit: they understand that actually confronting me about issues like that make me really uncomfortable. However, they also understand that I promised a long time ago that I would never fucking whine to them ever again. In retrospect, the Star Wars Creature Cantina Playset I got in exchange for that promise was not worth it. I should’ve known I was in trouble when they wouldn’t give it to me until I proved that I had learned to write my name in cursive to their lawyer. On the plus side, it motivated me to learn how to write their names in cursive, which got me the sweet Death Star playset until the Visa cops came knocking. But I digress.
So I figured out a long time ago that I had two choices: either refuse to speak to my parents and lose their love, advice and power of attorney over a reasonably lucrative estate, or take all the experience in dealing with stressful relationships I’ve learned and turn the whole fucking mess into a drinking game, black out and forget about it.
As drinking games go, it’s not that complicated. Every Monday, I print out the following checklist of clichéd, “Mom-and-Dad” things they say to me every time we talk. During the call, every time they say one, I do off a slammer of JD.
- You should really get your Master’s Degree.
- You should really lose some weight.
- We wish you would quit smoking.
- When are you going to marry your girlfriend?
- Are you ever going to give us any grandchildren?
- When are you ever going to stop drinking?
- Why do you make that choking sound every time we say anything?
- Are you drinking right now?
- I can’t believe you’re drinking on a Monday.
- I would think we raised you well enough to know to cover your mouth when you retch directly into the phone.
- Holy Jesus! Is that gunfire?
- You’ll have to speak up; your father can’t hear you over those sirens.
- Yes, you will let them take you alive, little mister!
- You’re bailing yourself out this time, you ungrateful bastard!
- So when are you coming to visit us?
To be fair, I’ve never made it to the end of the game, as far as I can recall. My parents know exactly how far they can push me before things get out of hand. They also know that paying a little bail is cheaper than contesting a competency hearing.
