When I last left you, I wrote about my In-Laws.
Billy Bob didn't fail to deliver.
There's always doubt at family functions as to whether Billy Bob will show up. Which reminds me of last Christmas. So before I get into his latest dumbass move, I will harken back to the halcyon days of Christmas 2008. Christmas is usually held at Victor's house. Last Christmas was two days after my wife's stepfather had passed away - but before his funeral where Billy Bob would act like a complete asshole and seal his fate.
So it was kind of important that everyone attend Christmas dinner. Billy Bob did manage to show - given that he lives about 15 minutes away from Victor. And yes, he had them boots polished, sparkling brightly like the rays from a thousand moons. Billy Bob is a country song gone really wrong. Or really right, depending on how you feel about Country.
So we have dinner - which included the scariest culinary experience I ever had - but that's another story for another day. After we finish the big family meals, I tend to be the one to do the dishes. In fact, I think at all the family gatherings since I started dating my wife, I do them. Not because anyone asks, but because I'm usually sitting on my ass not lifting a finger in preparing the meals, so it's the least I can do. As you can imagine, a full meal with 12-16 people generates a shitload of dishes. It's a bit of a task, but I don't mind, and my in-laws appreciate the effort I think.
After Christmas dinner, Billy Bob had to rush home for a 'big family announcement.' He had been talking about it all day. The way he was describing it, this announcement was bigger than when Clay Aiken announced he was gay. BIG stuff.
So after dinner we exchange all of our gifts , but Billy Bob is nowhere to be found. He had been in and out all day, except he did manage to eat a ton of food, alienate his step son and reconfirm that as far as seating arrangements go, sitting next to a 400 lb tard with an oxygen tank or him was a toss up.
He walks back into the house, a smile beaming on his face. The room was silent in anticipation of the 'big family announcement.' We were on the edges of our seats. Ok, we weren't. And then he hits us with this:
"We got a WIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII."
I sat there dumbfounded. THIS was the huge announcement? I thought he was kidding. Nope. I'll tell you, I bet the trailer was a rocking event that night. The fact that purchasing a video game platform that was developed in the last 5 years was a big deal to these idiots gives you an idea of what Billy Bob's family is like. They're the Beverly Hillbillies, without the wealth. Or intentional humor. They do have unintentional humor nailed though.
So fast forward to Thanksgiving. Billy Bob shows up. I'm outside, and he's blabbing about hunting. How he gets in camo gear, and how his arrows were the wrong ones and how most hunters are 'doing it wrong.' My only fear with Billy Bob hunting is that there will be a 'hunting' accident and my In Law meal ticket will perish.
Back inside, I'm talking to his step son who started his freshman year at college.
"Didn't you break up with that chick?" I delicately asked.
"Yeah."
"You dating?" Hey, I paused for a second in recognition of the break up.
"Yeah." But there was a bit of a twinkle in his eye.
"You're whoring around, aren't you?"
He smiles and says "A little bit."
I now realized this was actually an important conversation. One of those conversations that his idiot stepfather couldn't have with him. So I stepped up.
"Ok, listen carefully. This is very important." I leaned in towards him to make sure no one overheard us.
"Someday, you're going to be me. Yes, I know, you don't think it will happen to you. It will. Do I look like a happy guy?"
He laughs. I continue.
"College is like a buffet. You think when you get out in the real world you're going to find an environment of young hot girls with self esteem issues and damaged decision making faculties? No. You won't, unless you pay for it. So you need to take advantage of what you have, while you have it."
"I hear you, but it's a bit awkward, you know, I ran into this one after we hooked up and she was mad. I kind of hurt her feelings." Oh boy, I could sense he was about to make the biggest college mistake: a steady girlfriend.
"The buffet has no feelings. You can't look at it that way, and realistically, what's more hurtful? Stringing a chick along, or ending it quick, like removing a band-aid? I've broken up with chicks on voice mail. Sure, they get mad, but get used to the fact that you're going to piss off chicks you sleep with. It's the way of the world, accept it as a cost of doing business. Dude, you're making memories now that are going to have to last you for a very long time. Don't lie to them, but do not, DO NOT, get guilted into dating a hook up chick because it's awkward. Any time sex is involved, there's going to be awkwardness, that's part of the fun."
He looked at me quizzically.
"Look man, just play around and avoid relationships at all costs. You're too young to understand a good relationship, but old enough to enjoy sex with randoms."
He laughed. "Ok man, I hear you."
"Use protection."
"Of course, thanks man."
"Don't tell your parents about this conversation."
I have to end a lot of my conversations that way. Wow, that makes me sound like a pedophile.
Yeah, I know, I'm role model of the year. The thing is I don't have the heart to lie to the kid. I'll let the real world handle that.
Anyway, dinnertime arrives. My mother in law puts up a nice spread, even if I don't like Turkey very much. Then this nugget:
Victor: "Hey Billy Bob, did you see that weight set out on the curb up on Maple the other day?"
Now, I'm thinking, is Billy Bob going to start working out? Why does he need to know about a trashed weight set?
Victor: "How about that piano on Pine the other week?"
Now I'm really baffled. At this point, I think my wife was talking to me, but my super-duper developed spidey-sense was going off.
Billy Bob: "No, but I got one the other day from another place."
Me: "Why did you get a piano?"
Billy Bob: "For the scrap."
Oh. My. God. He is dumpster diving. As his main job. But it gets better. He then describes how he gets all this trash stuff (some of it, I have to say, sounded really interesting - like finding a WWI trench knife, or that in the old days, typewriters didn't have a "1" key, the lower case 'L' was used instead) - brings it back to his place, and then destroys it in the back yard. He was talking about how much he enjoys destroying stuff. He forgot to mention that he's still on disability. But his best scheme was this one:
"Yeah, so I was watching the price of copper go up. So I weighed out some pennies to see how many were in a pound to see if it would be worth it to melt them down."
Oh. My. God. This guy is the gift that keeps on giving.
Me: "Uh, you know they don't make pennies from pure copper, right?"
"Yeah, I found out that you need to get pre-1983 pennies. So I started separating them, but the price went down again so it wasn't worth it."
Oh no, Billy Bob, it was definitely worth it.
We finish dinner. Billy Bob gets up and says "I got dishes" and makes a big production of it. My mother in law looked at me. Like I'm going to say no. Plus football is on, so fuck it, he wants to be the dish hero, well, he could use the points, and he's so out of third, I'm not worried about it.
I go sit in front of the tv to watch the Cowboys/Raiders. I am totally oblivious to my surroundings. In other words: at peace.
"Honey!"
I realize my wife is calling me. I lean forward. "Huh?"
Billy Bob: "Where's my reliever?"
Holy fucking shit. Are you serious? You need 'relief' from washing dishes? After you made this big production about it? Then he does the whole 'just kidding' thing. So fine, I can play along. I sit back and watch the game.
Five minutes goes by.
"Oh, where's my relief?"
Now I'm annoyed. What a fucking pussy. You can't even finish dishes? So I get up and go out there. Billy Bob makes a big production of showing how much he got done. So what did he get done? Basically anything he could rinse and put in the dishwasher. Wow, Billy Bob, you're a real Dish Wash Hero (I think of it like Juke Box Hero, but infinitely cooler).
That's right, all the pots, pans, and shit that, you know, actually requires effort to wash and won't fit in the dishwasher is still left to be done. So I'm up. A lesser man may have accepted his fate. A lesser man would have done his job.
I am not a lesser man.
I resolved at that moment that every dish I washed, by hand, would be the cleanest fucking dish in the history of clean dishes. No, standard scrubbing wouldn't be enough. Those fuckers were gonna sparkle. Dishwashers the world over would tremble at my dish-washing might. I pulled up my sleeves, turned up the hot water, and I began.
To say that I was poetry in motion doesn't do me justice. It was as if the dirt and grime on the dishes knew that they were witness to, and part of, the greatest dishwashing session ever. Pans? Ha. Pots? Please. Roaster rack? Fuck you, bitch.
Then my mother in law asks me: "What do you think of the dish towel?"
"It's nice Ma, I dig it."
"I made it myself." Yup. I was in the zone. Everything falling into place. Now, I sweat at the drop of the hat, so with all the water, steam, and scrubbing, I'm dripping like a hooker after a Naval convention.
And then the women come in. Oh yes, they saw it. They saw it all. Me, at the height of my dishwashing prowess. Banishing dirt and food particles to the never to be seen beyond. Dripping with sweat, just looking as fucking manly as only I can.
"Son, why don't you let me take over" my mother in law says.
Oh, no. I see that trap.
"Ma, I'll finish it. I'm fine."
The glasses? Like fucking Rembrandt with Cascade, bitches. I would set the President's table with that shit.
But has Billy Bob done enough damage to himself? Ha, not at all.
He says to my wife: "Wow, he's pretty good, maybe we'll keep him."
And though I'm not a boastful man, I wasn't letting this opportunity get by without comment.
"I should be, I wash dishes three days a week."
"Oh, yeah, you got that other job." He got the point. Instead of dumpster diving, and disability, get a job. Help your family.
Yup. That's right, Billy Bob. That's what a man does. Everyone has hard times. It's what you do to get out of them that makes you a man.
But don't change, Billy. Don't change one bit.
I love you just the way you are.
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