2005 Story Set
| Date: Nov 14, 2005 A Fabio-Fan sent me this story - thinking Fabio would like it. I said it was too good - I had to post this. I laughed myself silly. ----------- One day I was finishing up the chores at home to get ready for work. I worked 2nd shift so my days were free. Since Mom was at work, I would clean the house, do the laundry, and fix dinner. I love to do housework, I don't mind it at all, but that day everything was in a rush. I was caught on a phone call longer than I had planned. Now it was late and I still hadn't had my shower yet so I could get ready for work. As was Dad's custom, 2:00PM rolled around and he asked me for his afternoon coffee. I was in the kitchen at the time and had just finished putting a pig to roast in the oven. I carefully served his seasoned coffee (one teaspoon of sugar and a dab of skim milk) at the dining room table that is directly behind the kitchen. I returned to a sink full of breakfast and lunch dishes, turned the water on to fill the sink, to wash them as I had done so many times before. Thru the sound of the running water, I faintly heard the sound of Dad griping about something again. I was accustomed to this behavior, which happened from time to time. Not a usual occurrence, but a nuisance when it does happen. I couldn't make out the words. The cascade of water mixing with dishwashing liquid muffled it until, ... I heard what sounded like my name being called. I turned off the water, turned towards him, and asked if he was calling me. "Bring me the butter, please," he asked. I dried my hands off, opened the fridge, and pulled out a tub of I CAN'T BELIEVE ITS NOT BUTTER! and placed it before him on the table along with the butter knife. Now Daddy was raised on a cow ranch, so he loves all sorts of dairy products. For those of you who refuse to drink milk, I can attest to its benefits. Daddy's teeth are perfect, he has maybe two fillings in his mouth, which is outstanding for a man who is retired. The only work he has ever had done on his teeth is getting them capped. This he did, because it was the superfly thing to do in the 70's. However, because of the excesses in the dairy, he now has a cholesterol problem. I guess too much of a good thing can be bad for you after all. So Mom has been substituting things in his diet, for example skim milk, ice milk, and I CAN'T BELIEVE ITS NOT BUTTER! I ask him if he would like me to bring him something else and he shakes his head no, that he is OK. This should have sent a red flag! But, being in a rush I quickly return to the sink and think nothing of it. The griping continues so I tell myself, "Think good thoughts... Think good thoughts," as my mind races off into daydream never never land. The tub of I CAN'T BELIEVE ITS NOT BUTTER inspires daydreams of Fabio and me waltzing down some beautiful narrow streets, in a small beautiful Italian village. He is dressed in a white shirt and jeans, I in a long flowing summer dress with pink flowers on it. We arrive at street cafe where he carefully ushers me into a chair, hands me a rose, and calls the waiter to order a bottle of fine Italian wine and some freshly baked Italian bread. Now the first sink has filled up bringing me back to planet earth. I really hate to waste water. So what I do is have one sink full with soapy water and the other sink filled with plain water. As one dish gets washed, it goes into the clean water and when all are done, I empty both sinks and re-rinse the now clean dishes. As the 2nd sink is filling with clean water I hear more muffled griping that I can't make out again. Inspired by the sinks full of water, I decide to continue on my trip to Italy. This time Fabio and I are off on a gondola in Venice. Accordions play O SOLO MIO, he places a huge diamond ring on my finger, and calls me Bellisima. Again, the proverbial bottle of fine Italian wine and freshly baked Italian bread take the stage. Fabio now cuts a slice of bread, butters it generously, and is about to feed it to me when... The griping gets louder. Loosing my patience now, I gaze upon the Venetian blind in the window, above the sink in front of me, and say to myself, "So much for Venice," realizing this is the closest I am getting to Venice today, if ever! See, Dad's griping usually dies down after five minuets. The normal protocol is just let him vent. He normally goes on and on for a while and then when its been purged, he will ask if there is something to eat like nothing just transpired. The key is to not ask, back talk, or add your two cents on anything he says, because it will just add more fuel to the fire. Now, with both sinks filled, I proceed to pick up the first dirty dish and I hear the soliloquy. "Look at how they bring things into the house, don't eat it, and let it go stale." "Darn, these kids are sooooo spoiled." "How many times have I told Margaret (MOM) not to buy them everything they want?" "I give them everything, cars, house, food, clothes, cable TV, phone, video games, pets, ... " (list goes on and on) "You don't have to go to college to learn that money doesn't grow on trees!" "They must think I am made of money." "For now on, I am going to do the grocery shopping, instead of Margaret, who just fills the cart, so that the food ends up in the trash once it's spoiled, because no one eats it." "AHA!" I tell myself, as I assume the griping is the result that he has read the tub of I CAN'T BELIEVE ITS NOT BUTTER! There had been similar griping when ice milk was used to replace ice cream. I re-stamp my mental passport destination Italy. This time Fabio and I are riding a white horse. We arrive at a beautiful field where red and white checkered picnic blanket has been placed with a wicker picnic basket on it containing the bottle of fine Italian wine and the freshly baked Italian bread. Fabio and I sit down, he looks deep into my eyes, and finally feeds me the slice of generously buttered freshly baked Italian bread. I close my eyes and just as I am about to declare those famous words, "I CAN'T BELIEVE ITS NOT BUTTER!", I hear my dog begin to yelp as if someone is killing him in the dining room. Scared out of my wits, I turn around. But all I see is Daddy dunking something into his cup of coffee, chewing it a lot, and then finally swallowing it with a gulp. He then tells the dog, "You don't want any of this. Its sooo stale it's like a brick." Puzzled I am wondering, "What in the world is he eating?" The dog is now bouncing up and down and yelping even more frantically. What I saw next freaked me out so bad that my eyeballs popped out six inches in front of my nose. Daddy reaches past his coffee mug, and reaches his hand into a box of doggie pizza treats, takes one out, smears a huge glob of I CAN'T BELIEVE ITS NOT BUTTER! on it, proceeds to dunk it in the coffee just like before, and eats it!!! *GASP* I CAN'T BELIEVE DADDY IS EATING DOGGY TREATS!!!. Why did I not tell Daddy what he was doing you may ask? Well it's simple. I didn't have a 6'3" tall Italian man with 18 inch biceps [note - I think they were bigger] there to protect me should the griping escalate to shouting! I turn around to try to gain my composure, and I want to laugh so bad, but I can't in front of him. You know how hard it is not to laugh, especially when you aren't supposed to and you want to? Well, with every yelp of the dog and every crunch I hear I start to shake even more. Just when it couldn't get worse, I hear daddy scream, "Darn, I lost the cap on my front tooth! These stale junk cookies!" This gives way to tears from my laughing so quietly which since I can't laugh out loud, now it gives way to snorting! As I am wiping the tears with the back of my hand, Daddy notices my behavior, come up behind me and says, "There, there... don't cry princess. It's ok. I will be ok. I just get angry sometimes with Margaret. Just make an appointment for me with the dentist, OK?" Unable to speak I nod OK. He walks out of the kitchen, gets the keys, and leaves the house to pick Mom up from work. As I see the car pull out of the driveway thru the partially opened Venetian blinds, I collapse unto the kitchen floor and laugh, and laugh, and laugh!!! |
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