CrazyAuntPurl: Another case of "apple not falling far from tree"

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February 28, 2007

Another case of "apple not falling far from tree"

Now don't fall over of shock or grief, but today I am not even going to mention cat poop once! Whoops... okay, maybe once. But definitely not eleventy-two times like in the past few days.

Instead let's talk about the future. The near-future, in which MY PARENTS ARE COMING TO TOWN!!!

Of course, they are driving the family truckster all the way from Florida and planning to stop in Texas and who-knows-where-all-else along the way, and so they won't arrive until sometime in mid-March. But who cares, they are on the road, and that is the important part.

(Of course, since they are already on the road, I can't exactly ship them the thirty-seven bags of... oh. Nevermind. Ya'll know.)

Anyway, I am very excited to see my folks, and hang out and chitchat and carryon as we tend to do. I just got off the phone with them and they are almost in the Central Time Zone, which I informed them means "I can call ya'll even more frequently for knock-knock jokes."

If you met my dad, or anyone in my family, really, you would understand where I get my colorfulness from.

The last time my whole, entire extended family got together was at my Uncle Mouse's funeral. I wish that we would have funerals for people while they are still alive to enjoy the good words and funny stories and casseroles. In fact, I think I ought to schedule me a big ol' un-funeral for my birthday in a few years. Everyone can get together and say all the stuff they'd say if I were dead then we can eat fried chicken together and get liquored up and tell stories.

Although, now that I think of it, telling stories at a funeral is where I learned about the well-concealed and still very suspect fate of Flopsy Bunny.

We were all sitting around mournful and sad and maybe two sheets to the wind after my Uncle's funeral and the many assorted casseroles of grief when we started reflecting, reminising about old times. We started talking about the time Uncle Mouse came out to our place in Louisiana and brought his guitar and what a good time we all had. And that reminded us how for the ENTIRE time we lived in that great state, my mom refused to drive with the windows open on the car if we were going out on the bayou roads because she thought snakes might fall into the moving vehicle (she is damn near terrified of snakes). And we laughed at her, because we are all very poorly brought up.

When we lived out on the bayou in Louisiana, we had all kinds of wildlife experiences. I spent many of my formative years doing such things as frog gigging, nutra hunting (ewwww), crawdadding and general mud-covered tomfoolery.

Also, it is no surprise that once I grew up, I became the very prissy and citified gal I am now. I do not want to go frog gigging ever again. I don't want to sit in an old boat off on the smelly bayou while keeping a watch out for snakes jumping from TREES and into my BIG OL' PERM while some boys try to spear frogs for dinner. It is just not my idea of fun.

No, I prefer my fancypants city life with my cat litter drama and so on. I know lots of people who enjoy roughing it and going to exotic locales for vacation and sleeping in mud huts on straw pallets. They think this is "adventurous" and also "fun." Myself, I grew up poor and grubby and I am very happy to never rough it ever again for the rest of my life. This is why poor people work hard, you see, so they do not have to rough it. Rich folks can pay thousands of dollars to go off and get dirty. We po' folks who made good are happy to buy nice smelling body wash and stay in places with those little free shower caps.

But that has nothing to do with the fate of Flopsy Bunny, who by now you have realized probably did not meet a happy ending. I will never know the TRUE and also REAL fate of Flopsy Bunny, but I can only assume he didn't hop off to some neighboring bayou trailer and get invited in for tea and crumpets.

So we were all sitting there in the hotel, my brothers and my mom and dad, reminiscing about life on the bayou when I said, "Ya'll remember Flopsy bunny? It was so sad how he died of old age while I was off at 4-H camp that time."

And the room got very silent.

And then everyone studiously looked at their shoes.

And I said, "He did die of old age, right? JUST LIKE YA'LL TOLD ME?"

My brother said, "Uh, yeah. Bayou rabbits die of old age pretty prematurely. He was... grey? Wasn't he?"

And everyone started laughing in a secretive manner and assured me that no one had left the pen open or even perhaps OPENED the pen on purpose even though Flopsy Bunny, despite his sweet name, did not exactly have the disposition to match. He would in fact try to remove your fingers every time you fed him. He once spit at my dad. He scared our dogs. No, seriously -- all our dogs were TERRIFIED of Flopsy Bunny.

"I loved that bunny!" I said, passionately. Although I did start to remember just very vaguely the time I had to be taken down to the hospital because Flopsy Bunny had almost removed my left earlobe one time when I was hugging him.

"Sis, that was the ugliest and mangiest and most Satanic damn animal I have ever met," said my brother. "You sure know how to pick 'em."

And after I threw some hotel pillows at my brother for laughing at me and the forever unknown (to me) fate of Flopsy Bunny, I informed him every single one of those pillows had the scabies, and we started punching each other in the arm, HARD, and my father decided to intervene before his two GROWN, ADULT children damn near killed each other in their funeral clothes.

He cleared his throat and jiggled the ice in his tumbler, and then my daddy looked me right in the eye and said, "Let us all raise a toast right now to Flopsy Bunny."

"He was one damn good rabbit."

And even though I was horrified I had to admit it was still pretty funny. It was a kind of mean rabbit. And hey, he might have died of old age. Maybe.

So anyway, I am really looking forward to seeing my crazy family.

I will not be leaving them unattended with my cats, mind you, but I am looking forward to it just the same.

See my cheese-eating grin? See how little I have changed? And see my brother and his already maniacal axe-murdering look of crazy, holding that Easter Bunny cake like he is about to eat it all himself? I would say none of us have changed one bit. Nosiree Bob.