Hi y'all! PLEASE excuse the group letter but I've been thinking a lot
about all of you lately, what with the big holiday coming up, and I just
want to send out a big collective THANKS. Thanks for all of the helpful
things you've told me over the years, unforgettable little tidbits that
keep popping into my head at the most random moments: when I'm watching
TV, shaving my legs, doing the dishes, or attempting to have sex with
my husband. So folks, bear with me as I give each of you a moment in the
spotlight of gratitude -- and of course, if you can't stand reading about
someone beside yourself, please feel free to skim!
Let's start with you, mother-in-law! Jeez, that sounds so FORMAL -- I
wish I could call you by your name, Shirley, but I think we avoided any
unnecessary closeness since the first time your son brought me home. I
said, "Hi there" and you said, "Hello, I hope my son doesn't
marry some bitch who won't let him give me any money!" In the years
since, you've managed to fill me in on every one of your illnesses, real
and imagined! I LOVE knowing about your TMJ, bone spurs, neck tumors,
the holes in your retinas, exploratory knee surgery, and breakthrough
vaginal bleeding - I can't believe you bled through three beach towels
and a brown paper grocery bag on the way to the hospital. That
is some bleeding. I've also enjoyed hearing how much your other
son -- my brother-in-law -- LOVES blow jobs. Funny, I'd heard that a lot
of men like blow jobs, but it took hearing it from you for it to really
sink into this thick skull of mine!
Hi Dad!! I'm glad we're talking to each other again after what was it
-- six, seven years? It's nice for my son to know his grandpa, especially
since I told you never to lay a hand on him. I mean, hey -- let's save
SOME things just for ourselves, eh? Like the way you used to instruct
me on how to hand-scrub the "Hershey squirts" out of the crotch
of your leopard print bikini underwear. Remember that time you were wearing
them at the breakfast table and you were chewing me out for, uh, I don't
remember exactly -- was it smiling? Or whistling? Something involving
being happy -- ANYWAY, there you were, sitting in your chair with a bowl
of All-Bran in front of you, legs akimbo, yelling at me, and -- sorry!
-- all I got out of it was the head of your penis sticking out of the
fly of those panties! It was only a peripheral view of the itty-bitty
tippity-tip, but Mom had already told me that you had "a big one"
so don't worry, I'm not harboring any false impressions. Your painfully
generous endowment is the stuff of family lore! I don't know -- maybe
it's an issue because Mom's pubic hair is -- how did you put it? -- starched
MOVING ON! Oh, father-in-law -- remember back in our early days, when
I just started dating your son and I thought I could be your fag hag?
I have to admit, it was my dream come true: having a gay father-in-law.
No weird sex vibes when you admired my freshly waxed eyebrows. And that
time at our first Thanksgiving together, when you held a turkey drumstick
up in the air and wished it were a "juicy black cock" instead?
What a riot. I think the one to beat, though, is that time you and your
son and I were out to dinner and you said, after commenting on the tight-looking
ass of our Persian busboy, "I can't think of a single time Shirley
and I had sex that we didn't simultaneously orgasm!" Gosh, I was
so excited for you two! There's nothing that makes my vagina dry up faster
than picturing my husband's parents coming together! And I hope you don't
ever think she might have been faking it, even once Mickey! So
what if you're gay now, that doesn't mean your hetero life had to be a
sham. Relax! You are like, SO GAY. You're always up for pitching in your
two cents worth of gay, like "Your front doormat and your back doormat
don't match" or "Wrap your leftover cheese tightly in Saran
-- don't use Ziploc bags, for Pete's sake" or "Circumcise your
son -- uncut meat is prone to infection!" Wow! You have so much energy
-- give ME some!
And Mom, I bet you're so honored that I saved you, the be-e-e-e-est, for
la-a-a-ast. No, I was being Whitney Houston. No, not Paris Hilton. WHITNEY
HOUSTON. You don't know who that is? She's like this totally awesome junkie!
Look, never mind, I just have a simple mother-daughter advice question
for you: why did you sit on the toilet every day looking at your vagina
with a mirror like it was some shifty creature you had to keep your eye
on? I was just wondering when I should start doing that. After all, my
kid is almost THREE. I'll never forget the time I wandered into the bathroom
while you were picking at your "down there" with tweezers. I
was like, "Mom, gross! Don't use tweezers on your gumball" --
that was our nickname for the inside of your vagina, remember? -- and
you were like, "Right-a-rooni, I'll use a bobby pin next time.'"
Even though I'm all grown up and have a kid of my own and live a gazillion
miles away from you, I still think about those times.
Well, I guess
that's it for now. Merry Christmas Everybody!
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