A fight ensued at the last wedding I attended. Albeit, I did start it. But, I was kind-of proud as I very rarely have the privilege to start a fight in that crowd, or any crowd. That is usually reserved for …
But, let me digress. Just try and stop me!
At the reception, I was seated at the table with family. We have all known each other for many, many years, as families tend to do. And, I was feeling rebellious. My brother-in-law can be, how shall I put this, “trying.” He tries to cause trouble, he tries to irritate people, he tries to be a jerk and he TRIES to start fights and succeeds. I, however, rarely do try to start fights. I avoid fights. I hate fights. But, I will fight if need be.
His penchant for starting fights is a puzzle to me. Why would anyone get their jollies off by making an elderly religious lady get into a fight with another elderly religious lady about, well—for starters, religion? Somehow, brother-in-law manages to do this and he greatly enjoys it.
So, for a week before the wedding, I am gearing up for him. He has taken to calling husband, not by his name, that brother-in-law has known for twenty years, but by the term, “skuzzy.” Now, husband really could care less, but mom gets irate about it and I just figured that after fifty years of abuse by this man, it was time to stand up for my family.
There was also the little matter of the Bailey’s Irish Crème. I love Irish Crème. So, as two nephews would get a cup of it, each putting some in their coffee and then handing the remainder to their dear aunt (me) to drink t, I was feeling good. Three left-overs of Baileys and I was primed.
I proudly made the announcement. “Brother-in-law” (I shall not use his real name so as to avoid more of those pesky relative law-suits over my blog.), “Brother-in-law.” I said, “What is my husband’s name?”
He looks at me a bit dumbfounded; dumb might be more appropriate. I continue.
“You have known my husband for twenty years, and you know his name. So, you are to stop calling him ‘skuzzy.’ It is rude and disrespectful.”
Whereupon, he whines. “Why is everyone picking on me, today?”
His # 2 son states. “Because you have been picking on people for years and they’ve had it.”
I announce, “And, besides, I’ve had three left-over cups of Bailey’s and thought about telling you this for the last week.”
At which point, half of those at table, breaks out laughing and the argument is over.
I should have been drinking “Bailey’s” the next day, when brother-in-law said he could not stand people who wear the American flag on their butts and the conversation literally trampled the Constitution for, what seemed like, the next half hour before I could not take it any longer, and made my point about one of the greatest strengths of this nation being the right to free speech. And, protesting is one of those rights.
By the Way: I never mentioned to them that I have never worn the flag on my butt. Why, in any world, would I want to draw attention to my butt? For many years and, since I quite weight lifting, I would not call it my greatest feature.
The funny thing is, brother-in-law ended that argument (that went on for quite some time) by announcing, “Hitler had the right idea.” And, then walking out of the room.
The crowd forgot all about me and my little “free speech” issue.
One for brother-in-law.