The year was 1977. Or something like that. The place? Cuba Lake, New York. The people? My aunt and my cousins and me. As I've mentioned ad nauseam before, I'd spend weeks in the summer at the lake, in the charge of my aunt Doris. She was the coolest aunt you could ask for, fun, funny, and just all-around super cool.
We'd go to outdoor flea markets and she'd buy all kinds of costume jewelry and throw it into the lake for us kids to dive for, hours on end. She'd also put each of our initials in red ink on quarters and half dollars and throw those into the lake as well. I remember it sucking so bad when I'd dig extra deep in the silt for a shiny coin only to realize they weren't my initials. I threw it back. It wasn't until years later that I understood that this was entirely an idea to keep us preoccupied and tired out, but whatevs. It worked.
One night, she rounded us up and said, "Ok, kids. What do you want for dinner?" And we all shouted, "CANDY!" To our surprise, she replied, "Candy it is. Put your shoes on. We're going to the store." Shocked and excited, we tumbled into the car. Surely she can't be serious. When we got there, we were like... kids in a candy store. Man, I was overwhelmed with the decisions! I remember exactly what I chose: Cracker Jacks and a Hershey's chocolate bar. Two food groups. My cousin got Twizzlers?
Anyway, back home we went, the station wagon abuzz with excitement and the sugar coma ahead. She put the bags in the way back, and under no circumstances were we to touch anything until we got to the cottage. When we arrived, she said, "Ok, set the table."
What?
"That's right. Set the table. This is no different from any night."
So we set the table properly with placemats, napkins and silverware and helped ourselves to our choices. I dumped out a handful of Cracker Jacks and split the candy bar in half. I couldn't even clean my plate. Would you believe that shit?
Believe it.
We recreated the scene twenty years later a few weeks ago:
We'd go to outdoor flea markets and she'd buy all kinds of costume jewelry and throw it into the lake for us kids to dive for, hours on end. She'd also put each of our initials in red ink on quarters and half dollars and throw those into the lake as well. I remember it sucking so bad when I'd dig extra deep in the silt for a shiny coin only to realize they weren't my initials. I threw it back. It wasn't until years later that I understood that this was entirely an idea to keep us preoccupied and tired out, but whatevs. It worked.
One night, she rounded us up and said, "Ok, kids. What do you want for dinner?" And we all shouted, "CANDY!" To our surprise, she replied, "Candy it is. Put your shoes on. We're going to the store." Shocked and excited, we tumbled into the car. Surely she can't be serious. When we got there, we were like... kids in a candy store. Man, I was overwhelmed with the decisions! I remember exactly what I chose: Cracker Jacks and a Hershey's chocolate bar. Two food groups. My cousin got Twizzlers?
Anyway, back home we went, the station wagon abuzz with excitement and the sugar coma ahead. She put the bags in the way back, and under no circumstances were we to touch anything until we got to the cottage. When we arrived, she said, "Ok, set the table."
What?
"That's right. Set the table. This is no different from any night."
So we set the table properly with placemats, napkins and silverware and helped ourselves to our choices. I dumped out a handful of Cracker Jacks and split the candy bar in half. I couldn't even clean my plate. Would you believe that shit?
Believe it.
We recreated the scene twenty years later a few weeks ago:
My dearest cousin Chel n' me, just eatin' a few of the four food groups.Ah, memories. Like mammaries but better. Tits are overrated.
3 comments:
you were a lucky kid. you should rent her out to other kids.
not to be an a-hole, lametemp, but the term i think you mean is 'envious'--jealous implies you are vigilant in guarding a possession or hostile toward a rival.
ok, maybe i meant to be an a-hole.
love you!
Ummm, no, they're not. Tits are not overrated. Big tits, yes.
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