How Will It Be if I Die an Old Maid in the Garret?

Ever since Coble introduced me to this song, I like to sing it in the car at the top of my lungs. The way they sing it, it just sounds so defiant, like, fuck yeah, how will it be if I die an old maid in the garret? It’ll be fucking awesome, because I will have done it.

And then sometimes I get to the end and it makes me cry. I mean, I’m not even sure what a garret is. I assume, without looking, that its what Rapunzel was stuck in–a high turret with no castle attached.

Oh, shit, it’s an attic? I’m not that bummed about having to live in an attic. I mean, yeah, if I have to live in my attic, that’s going to kind of suck, because I’m not great on stairs, let alone rickety fold-out ladders, and there’s no bathroom up there, but if they throw me a bucket, I guess I can manage.

Well, fuck it. I’m going to stop being sad about having to live in an attic. The only real question will be–how will I get my cauldron up there? Is a cauldron in an attic a fire hazard?

My Mom’s Present to My Dad

Oh, I forgot to tell y’all what my mom got my dad for Christmas, but I was telling S. about it yesterday and she was almost crying about it. So, yes, my parents are in their mid-sixties and fairly liberal. I mention this only to imply that nudity is not a big deal for them. Why, I remember once my friend C. walking into our bathroom only to find my mom cleaning the tub naked.

Kids, you may not believe this, but there was a time when men sat around the house in their underwear, like, in the middle of the afternoon. And not cute boxers, either. It wasn’t weird to go over to a friend’s house and see her dad asleep in a chair in his tighty-whiteys. Whenever folks tell you about the good old days, believe me, they are leaving out the random appearances of underwear of your friends’ dads.

Okay, so over at the motel, my mom gave my dad a present, which he then had to bring over here and call each of his grown children into the back room to see one at a time. It was a see-through red Santa-themed teddy.

My dad’s complaints, in this order:

1. It obviously wasn’t his size.

2. Since it had feathers across the top, it was tangible proof, evidence even, that my mom is trying to kill my dad because he’s allergic to feathers.

But seriously. My parents are always naked. Not always, but Jesus Christ, don’t go into their bedroom without getting verbal confirmation that they are clothed. Because, seriously, they are not just naked, they are naked yakkers. My mom especially is notorious for wanting to have long, important discussions while she’s nakedly flossing her teeth or something.

Seriously, if you can’t see my parents, but they want to talk to you, it’s probably best to just ask them if they have clothes on so that you’re not surprised mid-conversation.

Which brings me to my final point. Of all of the people in the world, why would my mom need a see-through anything? Lord knows, she’d probably wander around for forty-seven minutes naked before putting it on, briefly, to take it off again. If she thought my dad would appreciate seeing her cast in a red hue, she could have just thrown a red scarf over the lamp. Same effect, much cheaper.