Friday, March 2, 2012

Day One-Fifty-Five: And don't come back

They're gone. Thank the gods above, they're gone.

The birthday 'meal', if you could call it that, went pretty much as I'd expected. Robert put one of his assistants in charge of the Beefiary for an hour while he reserved a table for the lot of us off to one side. Then we sat around and ate Robert's 'Polar Bear Dogs', as he called 'em.

… which were really just little heaps of ash in buns, covered in ketchup. How delicious.

I might have taken solace in the fact that people kept passing by and wishing me a happy birthday. That was a nice touch, 'cause it helped me realize that I have a lot of friends in Castle Doodlemeister. I couldn't really enjoy that, though, 'cause my parents kept chiming in every time somebody walked by.

"You know him, dear? Rather uncouth looking, isn't he? Doesn't even shave. I don't want you hanging around with that boy, and if you know what's good for you, you will heed your mother's advice." (My dad doesn't shave.)

"Dayum, Drago, you know some hot ones! Makes me wonder why you don't have a harem, yet, boy. Though if you're gonna be stuck with one girl, eheh, that wife of yours…" (Libby was sitting next to me.)

"You should get some chairs like these for your quarters during our next visit, Dragomir. They're much better than the floor. You do plan on getting chairs some day, don't you? You need to aspire to the big things. Like your brother here. We're so proud of Robert." (He sure loved that.)

"Your hat is stupid. So are you." (I think dad was bored.)

Once the meal ended and we'd cleaned up, dad decided that they'd stayed far too long, and that he didn't want to leave his farm with his farmhands a minute longer. They gathered their things and headed back to their wagon, hoping to make it to a village by sundown.

But not before my father, my ever-loving father, used this last chance to get one more jab at me, and boy was it a doozy:

"Dragomir, when you were first born I had no expectations for you. I named you 'Guard' 'cause I knew you'd grow up fat 'n useless. And while you ain't fat, you sure are useless. You're not a disappointment t'me, 'cause I always figured you'd be the lesser son. Robert got all the good stuff in 'im. Only good thing you've done, 'side from marryin' this fine piece of ass -"

"Can I please, please, PLEASE cave in his face?" Libby asked, earning her a wink from my father.

"- is sirin' that pup of yours. Wherever she is. Bit weird, but she's got muscles that make this old man damn proud. So I guess the family seed runs strong in those puny loins of yours, even if nothing else does."

"To sum up, you suck. See you next year." And he left.

Mom patted me on the shoulder. "He doesn't mean all that, dear. But you should consider getting a new wife. Libby here reminds me of a prostitute. Take care." And she left.

I had to restrain Libby, as she looked as though she was going to put an axe through both their heads. She compromised by sticking me in a headlock, giving me a wedgie and leaving in a huff. Don't blame her a bit.

I do, however, blame Robert. So I may have beat him up. He's nursing a black eye right now. Serves him right - though I doubt I'll be getting any more birthday meals.

I'd be more depressed about my father's words, but I grew up with them constantly in my ear. Plus he thinks Eve is great when I'm starting to believe she's some horrifying abnormality, which kinda nullifies his opinion. So… back to normal, I guess?



Dragomir the Depressed Son

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