My Fathers Third Wife
My much older brother calls her Twaggy, partially referencing a sixties icon of a female human who barely ate, but in this case adding his own sarcasm. My know-it-all sister calls her, dipshit, referencing, yeah, you’re right, no need to translate. Someday, my post-millennial kids will know what a dipshit is. I often refer to her as top heavy, and yes, they’re fake. Don’t ask me how I know this.
My father was in search of something. He passed a few years ago. And I don’t know if he ever found what he was looking for. But, his much younger third wife, Cecilia, is very much alive, and she reminds us every day of my father’s last wish.
So my older brother, Carter, his mother was, Sherry, very dignified, and my older sister, Dianne, her mother was Madeline, a glowing woman, who taught me about ignorant stupid dumbasses not by example, but by using her witty perception to recognize twits from a hundred yards away and singe them with her sharp mind and brazen tongue, and myself, Zack, are all here to make sure, we get a check each month, which requires, and here’s the big part, that we keep my mother, Cecilia, happy.
Out in the real world, happiness is a relative term. Amongst my siblings, it conjures up distance, That’s what makes us happy. Yeah, we’re not close. Sherry, I’ve been told, may she rest in peace, was a class act, but I guess my father wanted something different…
