Grandma: Hey fatty! *giggle*
Lindsay: You're lucky you're so old and small that even when you're a bitch it's cute.
Here are some typical Dad comments. And for the record, everything Sara and I say about Dad here is true. Seriously.
Sara: So we played trivia last night at The Beer Authority...the trivia was fucking ridiculously hard. One of the questions was “what do you smelt with steel to make it stainless?” WTF KIND OF A BAR TRIVIA QUESTION IS THAT???!?!?!?!
Mom: So what do you marry with steel to make it stainless? Carbon?
Sara: Chromium, apparently. We put nickel.
Dad: Chromium, duh…
Sara: Nice Google search
Dad: That’s not hard. Have you ever heard of “Chrome” same thing. Guy stuff, bitches just don’t know this stuff.
Sara: Dad, you are an honorary bitch. You wear nail polish and sarongs and go to Zumba. You’re on the same level of “dude” as Hoff* at this point.
Lindsay: I'm so happy I woke up to this conversation
Dad: Just for the record, I haven’t even worn my sarong this year, I haven’t had nail polish since Sun Lakes 12 years ago, and I am a total “Bro”.
Lindsay: Don't forget that he was also a girl scout and took Home Economics by choice in high school.
*Hoff is fabulous. Fabulously gay.
Lindsay sent out an email to Sara and Mom wondering if they had everything they needed in their hospital bags and if they wanted Lindsay to pick anything up at the store to have at the house for them.
Mom: I have tea and my fake sugar in my go bag along with an un-opened bottle of wine. I will remind Daddy to get beer and anything else he will need at the house. Like his mixed nuts and stuff. Daddy can go to the store to get food. We could even eat out if needed. So don’t worry about us.
Sara: Shit. I should probably have my shit together to leave. I know I won’t be down there as long as you guys or anything but still…
Lindsay: You might want to have a few things. Or at least a list/mental list of things to buy at the grocery store on your way down. Larabars, water, etc.
Mom: And you are not drinking my wine. So get your own. O.K., you can share.
Sara: Wait so…I need to bring my own or not? Can we drink it at the hospital?
Mom: Probably not at the hospital, although if we bring twist top, I don’t see why not.
Lindsay: Oh my god. You two are not drinking wine at the hospital.
Mom: Why not? You and Jesse will have champagne.
Sara: That's true. You and Jesse have champagne. We have wine.
Lindsay: THAT'S DIFFERENT. I will have just given birth. I dare someone to tell me I can't have a glass of champagne after childbirth and 9 months of sobriety. I FUCKING DARE THEM.
Sara: WOOOOOOO GETTIN’ DRUNK IN THE WAITING ROOM!!! YEEEEAAAAHHH
Just kidding. I’d feel pretty dirty drinking in a hospital. Unless there’s a bar. In which case…LET’S HIT THE BAR
Mom: Who's driving?
Sara: Ummm...Tucker can drive us.
Mom: Tucker would be a killer driver. I mean...literally!
Lindsay: BAZINGA!
Sara: Ha! Nice one Mom. See? Without wine you won’t have all of this witty banter to keep you entertained while you give birth.
Lindsay: I have this really disturbing mental picture of you two sitting outside the delivery room on the floor sharing a bottle of wine out of a brown paper bag like two bums and offering pulls to the nurses.
Mom: You may have started drinking already, but I haven't.
Sara: Yah, but you're still drunk from last night, probably.
Mom: That could be.
