First National Bank of Bobbi, May I Help You?
Apparently, I’ve gone into the savings & loan business… only I’m a lot short on the savings part.
8-freaking-AM this morning, the doorbell rings. NOBODY comes over at 8 AM. Our house is barely controlled chaos then, with two women who have taken an hour — each —at least— getting ready for work, occasionally slowed down in this pursuit by various animals and the needs of our ailing mother. But my brother needs his cable turned on. Turned on to the T.V. he borrowed from us. And he’s twenty bucks short for the cable guy.
Why is this my problem?
What am I, the cash cow? Do I have ‘asshole’ written across my forehead in some invisible ink only chiselers can see? Do I have First National Bank tattooed on my ass?
What’s sad is, if he were one of my friends, I wouldn’t hesitate to loan him the money (and I wouldn't rake him over the coals here). See, though, the thing about friends is, you generally have something in common with them. Respect and caring and a shared sense of humor usually figure into it. A vague interest in one another’s lives helps, too. Who says just because I come from some of the same genetic pool I have to let this guy in my house?
And yet, I'm thinking, what's the big deal, he's gonna pay me back. Maybe it's the way he just shows up, hand out, that drives me apeshit. Maybe it's the fact that despite being reminded that it was Mom's birthday on Sunday, the shithead didn't even get her a card. He could buy CIGARETTES, but couldn't spring for a 50 cent card from the Dollar Store.
But that's not really it, either. The guy just rubs me the wrong way, has since we were kids.
And of course, he is the one Mom ALWAYS sticks up for. I suppose that plays some part in it.
That whole prodigal son thing? If I'd been the son that stuck around, I'da probably poisoned the fatted calf and offed the whole family.
I think I'm having a dark day...
8-freaking-AM this morning, the doorbell rings. NOBODY comes over at 8 AM. Our house is barely controlled chaos then, with two women who have taken an hour — each —at least— getting ready for work, occasionally slowed down in this pursuit by various animals and the needs of our ailing mother. But my brother needs his cable turned on. Turned on to the T.V. he borrowed from us. And he’s twenty bucks short for the cable guy.
Why is this my problem?
What am I, the cash cow? Do I have ‘asshole’ written across my forehead in some invisible ink only chiselers can see? Do I have First National Bank tattooed on my ass?
What’s sad is, if he were one of my friends, I wouldn’t hesitate to loan him the money (and I wouldn't rake him over the coals here). See, though, the thing about friends is, you generally have something in common with them. Respect and caring and a shared sense of humor usually figure into it. A vague interest in one another’s lives helps, too. Who says just because I come from some of the same genetic pool I have to let this guy in my house?
And yet, I'm thinking, what's the big deal, he's gonna pay me back. Maybe it's the way he just shows up, hand out, that drives me apeshit. Maybe it's the fact that despite being reminded that it was Mom's birthday on Sunday, the shithead didn't even get her a card. He could buy CIGARETTES, but couldn't spring for a 50 cent card from the Dollar Store.
But that's not really it, either. The guy just rubs me the wrong way, has since we were kids.
And of course, he is the one Mom ALWAYS sticks up for. I suppose that plays some part in it.
That whole prodigal son thing? If I'd been the son that stuck around, I'da probably poisoned the fatted calf and offed the whole family.
I think I'm having a dark day...
posted by Delhui at 8:34 PM
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