Wednesday, December 28, 2005

The Great Santini Redux.

My Dad just made me help clean up our family room because someone is coming over to put in a new dishwasher, as our 15 year old one has finally kicked the bucket (Sorry Mister Maytag man). I asked why, since what do they care if there's a stray book or my necklace laying on one of the side tables? My Dad started howling about how this is his house and he takes pride in it. That doesn't really answer my question per se, but man, is it entertaining to watch.

Being a former military officer as well as harboring a fine case of OCD makes my Dad incredibly sensitive to mess- everything MUST be in its place, MUST be in order or he goes bananas. I unfortunately am not so concerned with organization and as such it is a constant battle of wills. I will reading a book, having just set it down to go and get myself a can of Dr. Pepper, come back, and find it gone because the man has re-shelved it. He will take things out of your hands and throw them away. He will pick up glasses of beverages you are drinking from and scowl at you and say, "Are you gonna finish that?" in anticipation of taking the glass and rinsing it out so it can more quickly be returned to the cabinet. Never a dull moment.

When I was in the spa last night, I guess my brother went to bed and left his socks on the floor. I came in and went straight upstairs to tend to damp. slightly chlorinated bikini removal, so I didn't get a chance to remind him to grab them before bed lest Dad espy them. Since I have the misfortune of bneing the second family member downstairs this lovely morn, I was trapped & now have to deal with the mania. Steve owes me one. I think my Dad is going to have him brought before a firing squad. I mean, he is in a state over the two seemingly innocent socks at the foot of the couch. He stood in front of these socks and pointed for a good minute or so. When I refused to acknowledge this, he then barked at me to pick my goddamned pontoons up. When I explained that last time I checked I didn't wear white x-tra large men's athletic socks, but I suspected my 6'4" brother might, he then pointed again and said, "Well can you pick them up please? Godammit, the smell could knock a buzzard off a shit wagon."

This is how he talks all the time. And you wonder where I get it.

LATER: Now I am getting a lecture on how great vessels were lost because of lack of communication, and having that made an allegory for Steve and I leaving the flat screen on all night because we each thought the other was going to turn it off when we went to bed. This is, to his credit, being given in an old timey sea-fearer voice but there's a glimmer of seriousness in it. "Many a ship went into the shoals when someone said, 'I thought he did it'". Thanks, Daddy.

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