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"Return to New York": Part Five
8 years ago
On the night before the big wedding day, my sister Rhonda asked me to show her the clothing I'd be wearing for the occasion. So, I took them out of my suitcase...
My attire consisted of a white button-down shirt, a pair of black pants (with a matching belt), and a pair of black dress shoes. And since buying them (at a Ross discount store in Margate) back in May, I'd only worn said attire twice: once at a cemetery in Miami-Dade County, and the other time at a Memorial Day ceremony near my home.
Needless to say, Sis spotted the only stain on the shirt (a tiny drop of barbecue sauce, from a rack of ribs I ate at a restaurant [after attending the burial at the cemetery], which I'd tried to wash off with soap and water from the Men's room), and numerous wrinkles on the pants (from improperly packing it).
Once again, the spirit of our fastidious mother channeled itself through my sibling, as Rhonda chewed me out about how crudely I take care of my clothes...
(To this day, I still remember the time Mom blamed me for her receiving the only 'moving violation' on a spotless traffic record in Florida - the day she was driving to a hospital, with me sitting next to her in the front of the car. She was so upset with me, for wearing a pair of brown dress shorts with so many wrinkles on it, she failed to notice the flashing School Zone sign, and got a citation for doing 30 in a 15 M.P.H. zone.)
"You're going to ruin this wedding, Jed. Mark my words," Rhonda ranted, as she took my shirt and pants upstairs, in an attempt to iron them both before she turned in for the night.
It was bad enough she gave me hell for the incident at the hibachi/sushi restaurant hours ago, without her finding a new excuse to lambaste me before bedtime. To compound matters, it was Glenn's turn to sleep on the living room couch, while I had to sleep on the air mattress on the floor. As an added 'poke in the eye', the air conditioner kept me awake all night - by constantly turning itself on and off every two-to-three minutes. I could easily sleep to the silence, or to the droning of the AC, but not to BOTH! Not to mention the fact that we didn't even need the air conditioner on in the first place; it was in the sixties outside, and all my bro and I needed was the screen door to the back yard to keep us cool!
By early Sunday morning, June 25th, the 'final insult' occurred when I was kept even more awake by Glenn's snoring at 5 AM!
(I'm not ashamed to admit that I, myself, have a 'sleep apnea' problem, but when everyone else is in denial about their snoring, it drives me stark raving mad!)
"WOOF!"
And now, Zipper (the 20-year-old Papillon) wants to go outside to "do his business". (And at his age, he sounds like an old man doing a poor imitation of a dog barking.)
"WOOF!"
So, as long as I was already awake, I rolled off the air mattress, went to the screen door, opened it, and let Zipper out. It was very quiet outside, so I stepped of the house, sat on a small chair in the patio, and watched the dog slowly wind his way on the grass - lifting his right leg every minute or so.
By the time I let Zipper back into the house, it was nearly 6 AM, as sunlight enveloped the whole neighborhood. Now, the other two Papillons (Estrella and Chewy) came down from the second floor, each one also wanting a turn to go outside. Now, I had a gig as a doorman for these incontinent canines - letting them out and in every once in a while...
Finally, Rhonda came downstairs, carrying my shirt and pants (freshly ironed and placed on separate hangers) in one hand.
"I hope you slept well," she told me. "I was barely able to sleep myself with all your snoring!"
"That wasn't me," I responded. "That was Glenn!"
"Bull!" retorted Glenn, who was finally awake. "Your snoring kept me awake, too!"
"You were TOO snoring, Glenn... punctuated with an occasional mumble!"
"I don't mumble in my sleep!"
"Then either it was one of the dogs, or this house is haunted!"
"Look," said Rhonda, "I don't have time to argue with you two... Jed, you have thirty minutes to shave and shower. Glenn, you go next, before Paul (my roomer) has access to the bathroom. Now, get moving!"
Reluctantly, I pulled out some clean white underwear and black socks from my suitcase, as I made my way to the bathroom - thinking to myself, "The sooner I can get out of Wantagh's answer to 'The Amityville Horror', the sooner I can get to the wedding."
"WOOF!"
Now, Zipper is barking for his breakfast...
(To be continued...)
My attire consisted of a white button-down shirt, a pair of black pants (with a matching belt), and a pair of black dress shoes. And since buying them (at a Ross discount store in Margate) back in May, I'd only worn said attire twice: once at a cemetery in Miami-Dade County, and the other time at a Memorial Day ceremony near my home.
Needless to say, Sis spotted the only stain on the shirt (a tiny drop of barbecue sauce, from a rack of ribs I ate at a restaurant [after attending the burial at the cemetery], which I'd tried to wash off with soap and water from the Men's room), and numerous wrinkles on the pants (from improperly packing it).
Once again, the spirit of our fastidious mother channeled itself through my sibling, as Rhonda chewed me out about how crudely I take care of my clothes...
(To this day, I still remember the time Mom blamed me for her receiving the only 'moving violation' on a spotless traffic record in Florida - the day she was driving to a hospital, with me sitting next to her in the front of the car. She was so upset with me, for wearing a pair of brown dress shorts with so many wrinkles on it, she failed to notice the flashing School Zone sign, and got a citation for doing 30 in a 15 M.P.H. zone.)
"You're going to ruin this wedding, Jed. Mark my words," Rhonda ranted, as she took my shirt and pants upstairs, in an attempt to iron them both before she turned in for the night.
It was bad enough she gave me hell for the incident at the hibachi/sushi restaurant hours ago, without her finding a new excuse to lambaste me before bedtime. To compound matters, it was Glenn's turn to sleep on the living room couch, while I had to sleep on the air mattress on the floor. As an added 'poke in the eye', the air conditioner kept me awake all night - by constantly turning itself on and off every two-to-three minutes. I could easily sleep to the silence, or to the droning of the AC, but not to BOTH! Not to mention the fact that we didn't even need the air conditioner on in the first place; it was in the sixties outside, and all my bro and I needed was the screen door to the back yard to keep us cool!
By early Sunday morning, June 25th, the 'final insult' occurred when I was kept even more awake by Glenn's snoring at 5 AM!
(I'm not ashamed to admit that I, myself, have a 'sleep apnea' problem, but when everyone else is in denial about their snoring, it drives me stark raving mad!)
"WOOF!"
And now, Zipper (the 20-year-old Papillon) wants to go outside to "do his business". (And at his age, he sounds like an old man doing a poor imitation of a dog barking.)
"WOOF!"
So, as long as I was already awake, I rolled off the air mattress, went to the screen door, opened it, and let Zipper out. It was very quiet outside, so I stepped of the house, sat on a small chair in the patio, and watched the dog slowly wind his way on the grass - lifting his right leg every minute or so.
By the time I let Zipper back into the house, it was nearly 6 AM, as sunlight enveloped the whole neighborhood. Now, the other two Papillons (Estrella and Chewy) came down from the second floor, each one also wanting a turn to go outside. Now, I had a gig as a doorman for these incontinent canines - letting them out and in every once in a while...
Finally, Rhonda came downstairs, carrying my shirt and pants (freshly ironed and placed on separate hangers) in one hand.
"I hope you slept well," she told me. "I was barely able to sleep myself with all your snoring!"
"That wasn't me," I responded. "That was Glenn!"
"Bull!" retorted Glenn, who was finally awake. "Your snoring kept me awake, too!"
"You were TOO snoring, Glenn... punctuated with an occasional mumble!"
"I don't mumble in my sleep!"
"Then either it was one of the dogs, or this house is haunted!"
"Look," said Rhonda, "I don't have time to argue with you two... Jed, you have thirty minutes to shave and shower. Glenn, you go next, before Paul (my roomer) has access to the bathroom. Now, get moving!"
Reluctantly, I pulled out some clean white underwear and black socks from my suitcase, as I made my way to the bathroom - thinking to myself, "The sooner I can get out of Wantagh's answer to 'The Amityville Horror', the sooner I can get to the wedding."
"WOOF!"
Now, Zipper is barking for his breakfast...
(To be continued...)
-- Lia
-- Lia