So, tonight, I was lolling about in my bed, thinking about Orlando Bloom and anime and libraries and life when Dad called. Our conversation went something like this:
Dad: So, what are you going to be doing with yourself this weekend?
Me: Nothing. Maybe I'll go see a movie or something on Saturday.
Dad: What about the holiday? Do you have to work?
Me: Nope. We all have Monday off.
Dad: And you don't work Fridays anyway, right?
Me: (slightly suspicious) Noooo. Why?
Dad: How long has it been since you've been to a family reunion?
Me: Not since I started college. I've always been in school over labor day weekend, you know that.
Dad: Well, check your e-mail.
Me: (extra-crispy suspicious) Okay.
Three minutes later...
Me: Holy shit, dad, is that a plane ticket sitting in my inbox?
Dad: (sounding smug) Yep. I've decided you need a vacation.
Me: But dad...the money...mom will kill you. She already said that it was too expensive to fly me down to Texas...
Dad: Hell with your mother. It's MY money and I'll do what I want with it. Now, it's Houston, so it'll be muggy. Pack light.
Me: This whole thing would be perfect if it wasn't for the fact I have to go to Houston. And then there's your imminent death when mom finds out.
Dad: Well, the reunion isn't IN Houston, baby. It's at some lake. You know how Mexicans are. They always need a goddamned lake.
Me: They rejected your proposal to have the reunion in Las Vegas again, didn't they?
Dad: It's a lot more kid-friendly than it used to be. Those Baptists, I tell you...
Me: Well dad, I'm pretty much shocked by all of this. I haven't been to a family reunion in so long, I doubt they'll know who I am.
Dad: Nah, they'll know. You were the fat girl who sat in the only air-conditioned building in the area and read books all day. They'll remember you. Plus, you're white. You stuck out like a sore thumb.
Me: Gee, thanks. I know it's been a while, but I seem to recall another fat white person reading books and lolling around in the air-conditioned cabin with me every year. And I'm not talking about Dom Deluise.
Dad: I don't know what you're talking about. I participated.
Me: Dad, you 'supervised'. Besides, I think it would be really difficult to play volleyball with a scotch in one hand.
Dad: Pft. Oh shit. Your mother's home.
Me: Maybe I should tell her. I'm too far away to kill.
Dad: Maybe we won't tell her at all. Maybe we'll just let her be surprised. She'll be so happy to see you, she won't even think of killing me until we're at the hotel and by then, your grandmother will be around to protect me.
Me: Dad, your need to live dangerously makes me slightly nervous at times. Remember, you can't die until I finish grad school.
Dad: Right, right. I'll remind your mother of that before she drops the hatchet.
Me: Well then, see you on Friday.
Dad: Maybe.
So, long story short, my father got a while hair up his ass and I'm going to Texas for Labor Day.
I haven't been to a family reunion since the dark ages and I'm really looking forward to it. Especially the last night, when we have this huge pot luck. Everybody brings something. And when I say everybody, I mean about 300 Mexicans all with a hot dish. And honey, let me tell you, it's 300 Mexicans who can COOK. I may have to buy an extra plane seat on the way back, but it will be totally worth it. Boo ya!
