The holiday is close. Between then and now I have just three classes, and no clients. So I almost feel like I'm on holiday now.
Data! Bring me beer! And when are you going to learn to get one together, you chubby fingered layabout?
Thing is, just what kind of a holiday is this going to be?
The dramatis personnae:
Gimme, long suffering, internally raging father to
Riker, stoical, smart arsed sister to
Data, psychotic, tantrum throwing niece to
Ellie, devastatingly beautiful, Stranded on Gaia reading daughter to
Babs, understated, wine guzzling wife to
Hans Brinker, uptight, methodist nazi. Lacks blood (or much of any other kind) relationship to anybody.
To be clear. My mother remarried. Which has made her happier than she was. So that's ok. I suppose.
Who's missing here? Anybody spot the off stage presence? That's right. Common Law has once again wheedled her way out of spending any time with Hans Brinker. And who can fucking blame her?
Take yourself back to Riker's commyumyum, folks. We've ordered a taxi, because, that's right, I still didn't drive back then. The fuckers don't show up. They never do, so perhaps we should have anticipated that. Five to twelve. We reluctantly make the call. It's Hans Brinker to the rescue. Except it's not. Because although the church is a three minute drive away, Hans refuses to take Data in his car as that would mean that there would be four people in the back. And that's against the law. We're standing there looking at him, in our commyumyum best, (I look like a Gap ad, the ladies look radiant), unable to fathom what how why where anybody could be such a painstakingly pedantic prick. And the clock is ticking, folks. Father Trendy is going to start lufffing it up in about three minutes.
Common Law's brother walks Data to the church. They miss a good chunk of it. I do not weep for them.
We get there on time. Just. But we're obviously harried and essentially late. I do embarrassed. Riker does stoical. Common Law does fucking raging. Fortunately, an obscenely large traveler woman arrives just after us, trips up, and goes down hard directly in front of the altar just as Trendy is warming up, thus distracting from our plight. I do not weep for us.
I weep for Hans Brink. The stupid cunt.
Looking forward to the holiday, so I am.
What are they doing in heaven today?
18 hours ago