My Name is Steve
A summer night in the 1980s...
Strolling along a quiet, riverside walkway...
With a tall, handsome young man who was fond of me...
On the street behind us, we could hear the approach of a vehicle; its stereo thumping out a beat.
Ignore it.
Ignore it.
Ignore it...
Until it pulled up next to us.
And stopped.
It was a big ole conversion van, rocking with a combination of woofers, tweeters, and occupants.
Lots of occupants.
From inside the van came a loud human squeal.
"ROOOOOOSES!"
And when the side door opened, the thudding beat of the stereo was revealed to be POLKA music, and the occupants who spilled out were several of my aunts and uncles.
"It IS Roses!"
"Hey, Roses!"
"It's Roses... and a BOY!"
They were drunk.
And, judging by the open beer bottles in their hands, not yet as drunk as they were going to be.
They greeted tall young man.
"Are you Todd?"
"You must be Todd!"
"Hey, everyone! This is Todd!"
"Wanna beer, Todd?"
A cold front moved in.
Beer bottles frosted, right before my eyes.
An icy voice spoke. "My name. is. Steve."
"Oooooooh..."
"Whooooooops! Sorry, Roses!"
"Well then, wanna beer, Steeeeve?"
Quickly, they piled back into the van, hollering and hooting out the windows as they pulled away.
You know that scene in "Forrest Gump" where Forrest swims to a dock to greet Lieutenant Dan, and as Forrest's shrimping boat crashes into shore, Forrest looks at Lieutenant Dan and says, "That's mah boat."
Well, in much the same manner, I looked up at tall young man and said, "That's mah family."
He was a good sport.
After I explained that Todd was an old boyfriend.
That I'd broken up with years earlier.
But the aunts and uncles hadn't seen me with anyone since.
And so, assumed I was still with him.
In the days following, Steve developed a habit of greeting me with a loud, high-pitched, "ROOOOOOSES!"
Which was very funny...
Until I once responded, "Hey, everybody! It's Todd!"
He never did call me ROOOOOOSES after that.
In fact, he didn't call me at all.
Not so funny, I guess.
7 comments:
Good way to test people. If they can't handle your family, well then it just ain't gonna work.
That is too funny. I think we might be related. That sounds like my family.
Heh - now that's just funny...
Polka music? And beer? Please tell me they were Polish...my hubby's Polish, and he would have LOVED having family do that to him when he was young. He so wanted people who would 'belong' to him.
That is just too funny! Polka music with sub-woofers!
I can never come over here to your blog when I have a full bladder!
Better off without someone who's humor-impaired like that :-)
Yes, polka music, I understand. I understand completely. COMPLETELY! I grew up on the stuff and I'm a little embarrassed to admit that I like it. Not enough to buy it and then listen to it. Please! But still. It brings fond memories. And Todd. . er . . Steve. Good riddens. You dish, you take or you get the heck out of dodge.
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