Alternate Reality

The Wife told me about a family heirloom she sold on ebay. Her mother got upset when she found out. Claimed she gave her that heirloom and it wasn't meant to be turned around for a quick buck. The Wife didn't get it from her mother, it was from another family member. The Wife said, "My mother lives in her own reality."

I understand. Let me tell a couple of stories. Long ago in the fetid land called Tacoma Washington, I lived at home and had a twenty gallon aquarium in my room. My dad didn't care for my aquatic interest. I didn't care that he didn't care and there we were. One day he came into my room and asked, "Where is my brown bucket?" I had never seen a brown bucket in the house. I told him so. He said he did have one and knew I had used it on "That durned fish tank." I kept telling him that I had my own buckets, paint buckets that I found on the street and spent the whole day cleaning so as not to introduce harmful chemicals into the tank. He finally got off my back and left, but he still gave me the third degree every now and then. Many years later, I've been on my own and I'm visiting the parents. There in the utility room sits a new brown bucket. I think, "So you finally got your damn bucket." You would swear my dad was Captain Queeg.

Another time, in that same neighborhood, a man stopped me as I rode down the street and said, "I recognize you. Your dog bit me on the ass." I told him that my dad, the captain, was vehemently anti dog and wouldn't allow me to own one. Thus, this man's posterior puncturing was not the result of some truculent animal who escaped from my custody. It was someone else's dog. He disagreed, reaffirming that my dog bit him. In the ass.

Bit in the ass. Brown bucket. I know there's a good joke somewhere in there.