On Family and Hyperbole

We celebrated Thanksgiving well and happily. Twelve of us squeezed around my Dad’s dinner table, while the younger kids spent half of their dinner at the kiddie table and the other half chewing on pieces of turkey and spinning in circles next to their chairs. If any one else pops out another baby before next year, we’re going to have to hold Thanksgiving in a more appropriate venue, like Chuck E. Cheese.

My cousin and his wife, Stephanie, and their two young children were amongst the guests. Stephanie is this tall cool glass of water, she’s a knock-out y’all, and I hate her. No, I don’t hate her, she‘s actually super cool, knows how to throw around the sarcasm, intelligent and…wait, no actually, I do hate her. So Stephanie comes in and we hug and since she’s a foot taller than me I dodge my head to the side in order to avoid planting my face between her boobs.

Standing to her side is Olivia, Stephanie’s mini-me four-year-old daughter. Olivia is a stunning little girl with long blonde hair that’s interspersed with golden highlights. She’s wearing a gold lame party dress with gold sparkly shoes and white leg warmers – and really, how rockin’ are leg warmers with a party dress? Now that think of it, I should also probably add fashionable when describing Stephanie – that bitch.

So, while I’m doing my best to avoid head butting Stephanie’s breasts, my Dad offers to take Olivia’s coat. Olivia accepts his offer and in one seemingly choreographed motion, shrugs off her coat, letting it slip to the floor behind her as she steps away. And in that moment, you just know she’s going to be her senior class Prom Queen. Someday she’ll make a man either very happy in the way only a supermodel can, or very unhappy in the way only a supermodel can...

Read the rest at Bueno Baby.