The the other night the fam and I sit down for a game of hearts. I have no clue how to play and I’m too busy texting to actually listen to dad explain the rules. His frustration mounts as I sit clueless and throw up my hands in despair, “I don’t get it.” He shakes his head, “You know for someone who is book smart, you sure don’t have much common sense,” dad scoffs in annoyance. When it again gets to my turn I’m too wrapped up in texting to play a card and have no clue which card would be a smart move. “Well maybe if you paid attention to the game and not your phone,” mom says.
“Who is this Miles character?” Kristina pipes up. I send her daggers, but it’s too late. Mom suddenly comes to life, “I can see for miles and miles,” mom sings alternating her hand as a visor while she wiggles back and forth in her chair and then bursts into giggles. Clearly the wine is taking its toll. “Why are you singing that?” I cry. “Cause you’re dating a man named Miles,” mom says. “Texting,” I correct.
Not to be outdone dad throws in a lame joke of his own, “Who is the kilometer guy?” dad asks and the crowd roars. The whole family is having a field day. “We’re trying to agitate you enough to reveal more,” dad says slyly.
By this point mom has moved on to the hard stuff and she’s barely made a dent in her glass. I’ve begun frantically scribbling notes in my notebook and mom is angry that I’m holding up the game. “I have to record the details,” I say. “Cause you won’t remember in the morning!” mom screams pointing at my empty glass of wine. A look of triumph passes between mom and dad and they start convulsing in their chairs. “How bout I make you another drink?” Kristina suggests. “I don’t want anymore,” mom says firmly. Half a second later mom concedes, “1/2,” she says in as much seriousness as she can muster. “I’ll make you another one with more juice.” “Please,” mom nods, “because that was really strong.”
“I’m going to go write on the blog about Miles,” mom says. “How are you going to do that?” I ask. “Better sleep with one eye open,” Kristina warns. “Or I’ll text him,” mom says nodding cleverly. Dad grabs my attention and discretely flashes the only card that royally screws me and breaks into an enormous triumphant grin. I’m convinced the two of them are are hopelessly and irrevocably insane. As Kristina pours mom a new drink, dad saunters out of the room. When he returns, it seems he’s fallen even farther off kilter. He begins rambling on about some guy he once met whom he bonded with because they both had dogs named Buddy. He proceeds to mention that the man has a son named Miles. By this point, I’ve almost completely tuned him out and the name doesn’t register.
It isn’t until he tells me the man’s last name, which by some impossible coincidence is the same as the Miles I’ve been texting. I jerk my head in his direction, “What did you say,” I demand. He repeats the last name. “What!” I exclaim, “That’s his last name!” A fake look of surprise washes over dad’s face, “You don’t say,” he says satisfied he finally caught my attention. “How did you know that!?” I demand furiously. “You read my email didn’t you!” I say as the light finally turns on. “I knew you’d figure it out,” he says. “You’re out of control.”
“Well it was up there and I didn’t know how to sign out of yours,” he says throwing up his arms helplessly.
I can barely write fast enough to record the details of their ridiculous shenanigans. Mom once again grows frustrated waiting for me to finish taking notes, “Lies all lies!” she cries. “Wow. Read that and tell me what I lied about,” I say shoving the scraps of paper in her direction.
Mom scans the paper, “I don’t quite remember,” she admits bashfully as Kristina, dad, and I burst out laughing.
“Well then how will you know if I’m lying!” I demand.
“Looks like you’re going to be the star again,” dad screams and resumes his evil cackle. “Nooooo!” mom shouts nearly tumbling off her chair. “Ancha!” mom cries, as though the dog can somehow save her from the humiliation of her actions. “She’s pretty close to alcohol poisoning,” dad says nodding at mom’s half empty drink and mom’s cheeks flush crimson. It seems in their grand scheme to embarrass me, they only succeeded in making themselves look like complete knobs.
