M.O.M. always seems to know precisely what nuggets of
information are needed to concoct the perfect experiment. She is skilled at taking in all of the
surrounding details in a matter of seconds and working out all the possible
outcomes of any scenario. She’s like a savant
of comicality who provides an amuse bouche of amusement. It’s not something that can be learned, it
must be a God given talent.
When M.O.M. agreed to marry my father, she didn’t have much money,
and her parents weren’t very interested in helping with the costs of a small,
simple wedding. I always knew grandpa’s
wallet was painfully heavy, the way he moaned and groaned in agony any time he
had to remove it from his hip pocket and open it. That wallet must have been made out of
lead. Dad’s parents were more generous
and grandma was happy to have M.O.M. as a new daughter, so she offered to pay
for the wedding dress.
M.O.M. and her best friend were supposed to meet dad at the
shopping center where he was instructed to give M.O.M. some cash for the
dress. It was a lovely summer day so the
place was packed with shoppers enjoying a stroll through the shopping
center. I can imagine the light buzz of
many different conversations swirling over head as people browsed the store
windows, went over shopping lists, or discussed what would be for dinner. Dad approached M.O.M. from behind, touched
her arm to get her attention and when she turned to face him, he awkwardly thrust
a wad of money at her. Her reaction
silenced the afternoon shoppers
“How dare you! I’m
not THAT kind of girl!”
I never discussed this incident with my father, but I can
imagine the quick rush of embarrassment, the stammering yet failed attempt at a
witty reply, and the overwhelming urge to turn tail and run. He must have gotten over it; they did get
married in the end.
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