"it means Ears..."

“Shut up Nataaaaaaashaaa!”

I’m pretty sure that Mike get’s never-ending joy over making fun of my name. I wanted a simple name growing up. I wanted a name that helped me blend into the herd instead of one that instantly made a room of nearly comatose children change into a pack of monsters with fake European accents screeching, “Naaaataaaashaaaaa!”

So far it’s been less than a full week since I’ve been trapped at my parents’ house, and I’m not sure if I can handle another one. It seems to be constant chaos here with the folks and my brother, with my parents trying to entertain me in every waking moment, and with this hobbled leg there is no escape. This morning I called out from the bathroom to say, “Don’t come back here! The door is open and I’m naked because the vent isn’t working and it is a million fucking degrees back here!” Within 2 minutes everyone in the house had come back to investigate.
“You said what?”
“Do you need more towels?”
“You are going to regret shaving there….”

One thing I did learn today is that hatching a plan whilst under the influence of Oxycodone, Tramadol and Roxicet is never a good thing. You’re lying there in bed half-asleep, thinking of something that may be a memory, a dream, something from a movie??? Was is funny or tragic…real or imagined? In this dream/memory there was a troubled family on a road trip in some sort of a chartered bus situation.

A pudding fight ensues. Of course, like all food fights, this ended with everyone exhausted and smiling and steeped in an atmosphere that screamed, “Wow guys! We’ve learned so much about eachother and about whimsy and about happiness! We’ll use this day to go forward in the world and in life with a positive attitude and a new purpose to share with humanity!”

Today’s lunch was the first day I’ve been able to get to the table with my walker….and once there, dripping with sweat and beet red, it was all I could do to force a smile and keep my mouth shut.

Out came the Mac and Cheese. Oh…the horror. I’m a bit of a foodie which is a real real problem when staying with Mom. While all I want is the simple and tasty home cooking I grew up with, now Mom insists on trying to wow me with fancy new recipes with Gastro-techniques that should never be eaten…at home or in a restaurant. Parsnip foam? Chive Gelee? Corn-Beef Puree?

I remember Mom’s Mac and Cheese as a kid…never from the box…a beautiful golden baked gooey triumph! What sat in front of me today was an abomination to all cheeses.
“It’s melted blue cheese and Oricchiette pasta. That means ‘little ears’ in Italian…because they look like little ears…the pasta.”
“Mom, is that just blue cheese? I mean, it’s ALL blue cheese?”
“Yes, why?”
“You know, Mom, restaurants add a little blue cheese to a regular melted cheese base for a little flavor punch…not all blue cheese.”
“Yeah? Well this one goes to Eleven. Mike that’s from Spinal Tap. It’s funny. It’s one louder. Eleven.”

My timing was perfect. I took a spoonful of the mess and flung it at my Mother’s shoulder where it made a more than satisfying “Schmack!” sound. I then waited for the Happiness and goodwill towards mankind “feeling”.

She shrieked. I guess it was really REALLY hot…and viscous. I quietly thought to myself, “Yes, that one went to eleven.”

“What’s wrong with you! Why do you have to be so awful. We’re just trying to help you out while your leg is healing. If you were married now we wouldn’t have to do this. Why aren’t you married again?”
“Mom, you should count her pills…I bet she’s taking too many.” Mike looked and me after he said it and mouthed, “DOOFUS” silently.

Mom cleared the table while crying and sniffling. Once she left the room Mike took a reserved spoonful of the Mac and Trash and flung it into the corner, under the curtain, where it would not be found for days and would then be blamed on me.
While I gimped back to my room Mike’s bright orange Croc hit me in the back of the head. I turned back to glared at him and all he had to say was,
“eleven…”