My One Republican Friend Family

I went shopping on Black Friday. I know, you don't need to comment on my hypocrisy, but faced with the choice between shopping with my dad and sitting around watching TV, I chose hanging out with dad, and he just had to take me to the new Bass Pro Shop. Though after the new Bass Pro Shop, a store that contained neither anything I wanted nor needed, I went to a vintage store with my cousin. There I found a handbook for hipsters, one of the requirements for a hipster is to have one republican friend and refer to that friend as "my one republican friend." This thanksgiving, I'm thankful for Luke, who makes me more of a hipster with his political leanings. Aside from spending time with my dad, I had to earn some back some of the good-girl points I wrecklessly blew through at Thursday's dinner with mom's side.

It was when I asked if we could talk about something other then the dog's poop or the kid's poop that I was mentally banished from the Thanksgiving day festivities. I, however, thought the request was reasonable except for the fact that I had to make it at all. My mother has always said I've had a weak stomach and I was feeling like throwing up all of Thanksgiving when the conversation couldn't get past the dog's poop. From that comment on, I was the black sheep of the dinner table and when we were having dessert my aunt used her pie-tip-wish to wish that I would get knocked-up with twins. After some thought she added that while pregnant with the twins she also hoped I would get pregnant again so I'd have triplets. In my defense I said I loved kids, I just probably wasn't going to have any because I had a hard enough time taking care of myself. Then my grandma piped in with, "of course you'll have kids, but you'd better get started soon." Walking out of Restoration Hardware my cousin and I agreed that if we truly loved a man we would never introduce him to the family. Eliminating both the painful question and answer period, to see if he marriageable and the resulting wedding. I'm pretty sure she agreed with me about the kids too, she was just smart enough not to voice her opinions so loudly.

Up until recently I had never ruled out having children, I figured that in the hazy future I might have some. But it was at the Bass Pro Shop that taught me an important lesson about how I react to irritants. Dad and I were on the second floor, by the shoes, and we were walking past the elevators to the hunting/archery section when a little girl started staring at me. There were crowds of people around me, shoulder to shoulder from the elevators to the bullets, but she chose to twist her little body around and stare at me. And before I could help it, my eyes narrowed and I glared back at her. Only after she started to say something and an arm-jerk from her parent stopped her did I realize that if she had actually said something to me I would have snapped. I don't think it would have come down to violence, but something would have happened. She was little and I blamed the crowds of people swarming around me for my elevated stress level. But still, she was four, and I should probably not have children if I snap so easily when things get rough.

The topic of my future children didn't come up at dinner with my dad's side of the family. That's because everyone had learned their lesson the hard way by having several unruly, selfish, and irritating children that I now had to deal with at the table. Christopher was trying to make conversation with me by saying, "I chipped my tooth last week." I said, "Oh, yeah?" He said, "But I can't remember how. It could have been a chip bag, or soda can I was trying to open with my teeth." Me, "Why?" To which, he answered that he did this when his hands weren't working. I decided not pursue. Later, when dad and I were leaving, to run such important errands as washing my car and putting air in its tires, we saw the hooligans getting ready to shoot their BB guns. Their father (my cousin) was taking out safety glasses, putting the goggles on his children in an attempt at protecting them, hoping his efforts would, in turn, make them better people. Dad laughed and said, "When I was little we shot at each other." I said, "I'm sure you always wore your safety glasses, right?" As we drove off in our silence was an understanding that I would never be able to remember the safety glasses, and I was thankful.