The Butcher has a beautiful, if slightly crazy, friend who we all love. Probably most of you are familiar with her grandmother, though that’s neither here nor there.
She’s talking about having a baby, just because her last name is so cool. And I was all like “Shoot, you should have a baby with the Butcher!”
And she was like “Have you seen your brother? I’m not having a hairy baby. How gross.”
And I was like “It’s an added layer of protection in the winter.”
And she was all “My people don’t do winter.”
“Um, Detroit?”
“That’s just temporary.”
“Temporary?”
“You know, we have the oldest civilizations on earth. What’s a hundred years or two to us?” Then she said, “Do you think I can trust our waiter to bring me water from the tap?”
And I replied, “Four hundred years of history between the likes of you and him and you’re asking me if you can trust him?”
The Butcher’s all “Her mom’s white, so it’s really like only 200 years.”
“Don’t take her side if she’s not willing to have your hairy babies.”
“Well, I am going bald, and I’m not even thirty, so chances are I won’t be hairy for most of my life.”
“And my mom’s half Puerto Rican, so, it’s really more like 300 years.”
“My point exactly. Have the Butcher’s baby.”
“I’m trying to eat. Don’t be talking about hairy babies while I’m trying to eat.”
“I don’t think the men in our family get that distinctive butt hair until puberty.”
“Your brothers have butt hair? Your dad doesn’t look hairy.”
“Well, see, then, maybe it skips a generation.”
My dad: “But you should have seen my grandpa Harry Robinson.”
The Butcher’s Friend: “Was he hairy? Ha, ha, ha. You are descended from sasquatches. If I had the Butcher’s baby, I’d have to name it Sasquatch McQueen.”
“You wouldn’t give it our last name?”
“Come on. Sasquatch [Our Last Name] just sounds stupid.”
My dad: “…was so hairy he had to shave twice a day and then there was Uncle B. who was so hairy…”
Me: “I’m trying to get you some more grandkids here.”