It Wasn’t As Good as the Mer-loot

As we all know, the main reason to spend time with your family is that it’s fun to goof on them.

Case in point: my family members from Rhode Island, which is pretty much all of them. The classically goofed-on Massachusetts accent is one where the letter “R” is dropped from words – “pahk the cah,” etc.

The Rhode Island accent is one where “R” is added to words it has no business visiting. While driving down to Little Rhody on Sunday, it suddenly became imperative to have alcohol that evening. (For some reason, family brings out that impulse in me. Go figure.)

I called my mom and asked her to – if she had any in the house -- bring over a bottle of white wine to the in-laws’.

She called back a minute later informing me that she was bringing a bottle of “chardonair.”

Now, you’re probably thinking she meant “chardonnay.” Hell, she probably thought she meant “chardonnay.” But trust me. I drank a glass of this stuff. It was vile. If I had spread it on my legs, I’m pretty sure it would have stripped the hair off them.

Later, we stopped at a gas station and pulled up to the full service pump. We stopped the attendant from filling the tank when we saw how outrageous the price was for full service and left to find another station.

“What’s wrong?” asked Jak-El.

“Their gas is bad,” I said, figuring this was the easiest explanation.

“They’ve got bad gas?” he asked.

“Yep, just like Grandpa,” added the husband.

So, of course, “Grandpa has bad gas” became the catchphrase for the rest of the weekend. Everyone, except for my father-in-law, thought this was hilarious.

“It would be funny if he was saying ‘Grand*ma* has bad gas’,” he harrumphed.

No, it really wouldn’t have.

I’m giving my sons plenty of things to goof on about me, so they’ll have a reason to come visit me in the nursing home. Or jail. Whichever comes first.

Happy Wednesday.