The Name Game
I have a few friends that have named their first born sons after the father in the family. This is a grand and glorious tradition, that I can’t find much fault with. Except… well... when a conversation like this takes place at our dinner table. It gets soo Abbott and Costello, it’s ridiculous.
Son: “So, you were at Mike and Mark’s house last night, what are they up to”? Me: “Oh not much, aggravating their parents - same as you guys”. Son: “Oh very funny Mom”. Me: “Besides, I was really there to visit with their mom and dad”. Husband: “Oh how are they doing? Is Mike’s CD available yet“? (Mike, the dad, is a musician). Me: “No, but he’ll get more copies soon”. Son: “Mike sings? I thought he was an artist”. Me: “No, that’s his brother Mark, and anyway, I was talking about Mike the dad, not Mike the son” Confused looks all around the table for a moment. Me: “And he plays bass”. Silence. Husband: “So…Mark is an artist? I thought he played volleyball”. Me: “No, that’s Mark the dad, not Mark the son, and we’re not even talkING ABOUT THE SAME FAMILY!” Family’s mouths are agape, as my voice has shrilly risen several octaves. Me: (sinking head in hands) “I don’t even know what I’m talking about”.
************Two Weeks Later*********
Son: So, you went to Mark and Matt’s house last night, how they doing? Me: (glaring) “Don’t even start with me Buster”. Son: “But… all I said was..”. Husband: “Shhhh…”.