M
montanaman
Guest
The thing with terrible news is that by definition you never know when it’s coming.
Here’s a fictionalized story about something deeply disturbing that recently happened to our family:
Officer: “Mr. [Montanaman]?”
Me: “Yes?”
Officer: “I’m afraid I have some disturbing news for you. It seems your father–”
Me: “What is it?”
Officer: “Montanaman, there’s no easy way to say this, but it appears your father has…are you sitting down? I really think you should be sitting down for this.”
Me: “Just tell me. Is he okay?”
Officer: “He seems to be coherent. He’s upbeat. In fact, there may be nothing wrong with him.”
Me: “Then what’s the problem?”
Officer: “You should know that this isn’t the end of your family. This has happened to many, many families, and through intensive treatment, it can even be cured.”
Me: “Do I even want to know what you’re talking about?”
The officer lets out a long sigh
Officer: “Your father has recently purchased a red 2005 Corvette. Eight cylinders. Mag wheels.”
The news falls on me like a dislodged 747 engine from the sky.
Me: “My father? But he…he’s always driven Ford trucks. He started with F150s and moved up to dualy 350s and even flirted with that Powerstroke model. No, this can’t be–my dad only drives Ford trucks. He’d certainly never buy a little roller skate–and certainly not a Chevy.”
Officer: “I understand that you’re in shock. But isn’t it true that he had a Datsun pickup in the eighties?”
Me: "Shut up! Shut your talk hole! …
Okay, I’m sorry I said that. It’s just that…well…mom and dad were just married. They were starting out in life. Dad had to do some things he wasn’t proud of just to keep the lights on."
Officer: “I see…”
Me: “Just tell me one thing, officer–has he grown a mustache? For the love of all that is holy, please tell me he didn’t get a vanity plate.”
Officer: “Are you sitting down, Montanaman? You’d better sit for this…”
Me: “Just tell me.”
Officer: “His plate says ‘AGELSS.’”
Me: [Weeping inconsolably…] You know it’s going to be bad, but you never expect it to be THAT bad…
Officer: “Here’s the number of a counselor who helps families come to terms with middle-aged Corvetitosis in loved ones. Good luck. We’ll all be praying for you down at the station. Oh, and one more thing, Montanaman…”
Me: “What? Please, no more…”
Officer: “I know you’re in a painful place right now, but I don’t care how old your father is. We clock him doing over a hundred in the country limits, it’s the highway to the Graybar Hotel, you got it?”
Me: “I’ll be sure to tell him.”
Here’s a fictionalized story about something deeply disturbing that recently happened to our family:
Officer: “Mr. [Montanaman]?”
Me: “Yes?”
Officer: “I’m afraid I have some disturbing news for you. It seems your father–”
Me: “What is it?”
Officer: “Montanaman, there’s no easy way to say this, but it appears your father has…are you sitting down? I really think you should be sitting down for this.”
Me: “Just tell me. Is he okay?”
Officer: “He seems to be coherent. He’s upbeat. In fact, there may be nothing wrong with him.”
Me: “Then what’s the problem?”
Officer: “You should know that this isn’t the end of your family. This has happened to many, many families, and through intensive treatment, it can even be cured.”
Me: “Do I even want to know what you’re talking about?”
The officer lets out a long sigh
Officer: “Your father has recently purchased a red 2005 Corvette. Eight cylinders. Mag wheels.”
The news falls on me like a dislodged 747 engine from the sky.
Me: “My father? But he…he’s always driven Ford trucks. He started with F150s and moved up to dualy 350s and even flirted with that Powerstroke model. No, this can’t be–my dad only drives Ford trucks. He’d certainly never buy a little roller skate–and certainly not a Chevy.”
Officer: “I understand that you’re in shock. But isn’t it true that he had a Datsun pickup in the eighties?”
Me: "Shut up! Shut your talk hole! …
Okay, I’m sorry I said that. It’s just that…well…mom and dad were just married. They were starting out in life. Dad had to do some things he wasn’t proud of just to keep the lights on."
Officer: “I see…”
Me: “Just tell me one thing, officer–has he grown a mustache? For the love of all that is holy, please tell me he didn’t get a vanity plate.”
Officer: “Are you sitting down, Montanaman? You’d better sit for this…”
Me: “Just tell me.”
Officer: “His plate says ‘AGELSS.’”
Me: [Weeping inconsolably…] You know it’s going to be bad, but you never expect it to be THAT bad…
Officer: “Here’s the number of a counselor who helps families come to terms with middle-aged Corvetitosis in loved ones. Good luck. We’ll all be praying for you down at the station. Oh, and one more thing, Montanaman…”
Me: “What? Please, no more…”
Officer: “I know you’re in a painful place right now, but I don’t care how old your father is. We clock him doing over a hundred in the country limits, it’s the highway to the Graybar Hotel, you got it?”
Me: “I’ll be sure to tell him.”
