You Can't Choose Family

Tonight, I stopped by my parents' house to pick up some tickets and find out about game day parking.  Waiting for my dad turned into grading at the table turned into listening to music with my sister turned into staying for dinner.  I had hoped, of course, as all adult children do, that my parents would feed me while I was there, but truthfully, I expected to just steal some cashews or maybe find some leftovers in the fridge.  If I was lucky, I'd get there just in time to find mom putting food on the table. Turns out that mom's out of town, though, but that's okay because whenever dad's in charge, we eat out.

My dad doesn't cook.  It's better that way.

Pizza was the choice and Reginelli's the place (as it always is), so despite being picked up too early from tennis, my brother Matthew was still pretty happy.

Matthew (entering the car, 7:25): Abby, you're stupid.  The tennis lesson was supposed to go until 7:30.
Abby: You told me 7.
Matthew: I never said that.
Abby: Well then, mom said that.  Somebody said 7.
Matthew: You're stupid. (Turns to me) You look like mom.
Me: Thanks?

Well, happy by teenage boy standards.

As my sister astutely observed at dinner, Reginelli's is always good people watching.  There were two of my former students at a table in the back, a woman Matthew and Abby knew but couldn't place behind us, a couple my dad recognized, two kids whose parents had handed over cellphones to keep them quiet, and a skinny guy in a sleeveless shirt wearing a headband as a choker.  Abby tried to sneak a picture of the choker guy without anyone noticing, but the Lakeview Reginelli's is like 800 square feet.  There's no hiding anything.  So it wasn't surprising that despite me powering through a full bladder to avoid passing my students on the way to the bathroom, they eventually saw me.  What was surprising was that they only saw me because Matthew practically shouted "Ms Olinde" as they were leaving.  After we exchanged pleasantries,  they left and Matthew called me stupid.  Because he revels in being as obnoxious as possible.

On the way home, Matthew started singing along to a song on the radio.  I joined in.  Then a Philip Philips song came on, and we argued over whether or not Americans like repetition.

Matthew: It's a terrible song, and it's only got like 86 words, but it's catchy.
Abby:  It's true.  Americans love repetition.
Dad: Do you like repetition?
Me: Where are you getting this information?
Dad: Do you like repetition?
Abby: It's true.
Matthew: Americans also love super-sized cheeseburgers.
Dad: Do you like repetition?
Me: Ugh, I don't even like small cheeseburgers.
Dad: Do you like repetition?
Me: Oh my god, dad, stop!

Then Maroon 5's "Love Somebody" came on.  Abby and I started singing along dramatically.  Dad added in.  Matthew sang purposefully off-key as loudly as he could.  It was beautiful and unplanned, like in a heart-warming car commercial.  Except completely cacophonous and over the top.

Walking into the house:
Matthew: The dog broke a plant.
Dad: What?
Matthew: Jack broke a plant.  Well, actually, the plant isn't broken.  He just broke the pot.
Dad: Oh no, that's one of your mother's plants.
Abby: Okay, I'm leaving.
Matthew: Weren't you supposed to meet up with your friends like an hour ago?
Abby: Yeah, well, it'll be okay.
Matthew: Plans are made to be broken.

[Abby and I stop and stare at Matthew]

Me: Did you mean to make that pun?
Abby: Look at his face.  He didn't mean to.
Matthew: I was gonna take credit, but no.  The way you were staring at me, I thought I'd said a line from a movie.
Abby: Didn't even get your own joke.  That's sad.

Abby leaves.  Matthew finds his computer and locks himself in his room.  Dad goes upstairs to change.

Me: Well, I guess I'll leave now.  ...Thanks for the tickets?

Trouble

Sweet

Trouble