Tom-level Petty
My cousin got asked to come in on her one work-from-home day.
And since you’re coming in, please go to the farthest-possible location from your home that we don’t often send you to.
She said fuck that and called off entirely.
Finally, proof we are related.
She was inspired when we got to talking about thank-you cards. (I got mine THE DAY AFTER the baby’s party.)
I said oh your cousin Carole used to roast me publicly. After my Gram died, Carole called all around, wondering if anyone had gotten a thank-you card because SHE hadn’t.
I had written them out. Addressed them. STAMPED them. With pretty stamps that I went out of my way to buy because I thought my Gram would have loved them.
I just didn’t DRIVE and wasn’t near a POST OFFICE again.
Soon as I heard about that shit, I tossed them in the trash.
My cousin said she aspired to that level of petty.
I often had guilt about that. Honestly I COULD have walked the envelopes out to a collection box.
But that was acknowledging my Gram was gone.
Give a girl a fucking minute.
Christ, my mom’s best friend forgave me for not telling her that my Mom was dead for a month.
Hell it wasn’t even forgiveness. She understood I was fucked up in the head for a good long while.
I found a list of phone numbers in Mom’s handwriting yesterday. With Carole and a bunch of other people I don’t talk to. Hell, half the people on that list are dead, too.
Anyway I may keep that to myself. I can’t call people whose numbers I never received, right?
I don’t share the fascination of my extended family (or of my ex-boss Ed) who delighted in sharing bad news with everyone within earshot.
Italians, man. He can lick me where I pee, too.