Monthly Archives: February 2012

This Could Only Happen to Me

You know, this kind of stuff can only happen to me, I tell ya.

The other week I wrote about my redneck-in-law’s brother over at my own blog. I said how his wife is constantly sending out emails about his progress to everyone and then Marla forwards them on to the entire universe I guess in an attempt to get some prayer action happening for his sake. She even forwards them to me, even though she won’t get any of that prayer action from me. Or from the rest of the family for that matter. But at least she thinks of me. Hey. But I was saying how they need to let go and accept the inevitable, not to keep clinging to hope for a recovery when that does not seem possible at this point.

So I’m going along with my life thinking that the guy is still hanging in there. I happened to be over at my parents fixing a component in their toilet (I tell you these new construction houses are as bad as old fixer uppers) and Mom’s talking on the phone with someone and I overhear her say something about Marla going to a funeral. After Mom hangs up, I ask her what funeral that was, and Mom looks at me surprised like I’m stupid and says the name of Recneck-in-law’s brother.

Now like I’ve said before, there’s no love lost between us. Frankly, I couldn’t stand the guy. He was worse than his brother, Redneck-in-Law. But that just hit me like POW. OK, ironic time here, guess who was hanging on to his existence here while everyone let go? ME! I was the one left thinking he was still hanging in there when he wasn’t.

But that wasn’t my fault. See, I never found out about it. Well, I did. Just then when Mom told me. AFTER he was buried and all. Not that I would’ve gone to his funeral or anything, but I would’ve maybe sent flowers or at least a card to Marla and the Redneck.

See, this really pisses me off. Marla floods my inbox with insignificant updates about his progress weekly, and sometimes daily practically, but when some big shit goes down like he DIES, Nothing. Not a word. In a way, I’m thinking she intentionally didn’t tell me because either she A doesn’t want me actually appearing at the funeral because she’s embarrassed of her scraggly leftist farmer brother or B she wanted it to look like I didn’t care because she wants me to be demonized in front of the rest of her family and by not telling me that means I won’t send sympathy cards or condolences which will make me look cold and uncaring. You don’t think it was C she was simply too flustered and upset and forgot, do you? Nah, I don’t either. But that’s what my parents contend. I don’t believe it. I think they want to think all us kids get along with Marla. They should know better after over 50 years. When I asked them why didn’t they tell me, they just shrugged and said “We thought you knew!”

I asked Lamar. He knew. He said he received an email, but no personal call or anything. I went home and checked my email. I checked all my email folders, I looked everywhere. I shot off an email to Melanie to see if she knew, but haven’t heard back from her yet. There was no such email from Marla anywhere to be found on my computer. What a bitch. I guess my address mysteriously got deleted from her bulk mailing list. Nervy Bitch. Sorry, don’t mean to offend anyone by my use of language here. Ann, please fix this if my tone is disturbing, sexist, or what have you.

But the weird part of the story continues.

The next day after I hear about the Redneck-in-Law’s Brother’s passing, I head off to the Pharmacy to pick out a sympathy card. I was in the process of parallel parking, and watching a crazy pickup driver in my rear view mirror and I accidentally bump the car ahead of me. What an idiot.

The elderly couple in the car ahead of me had just pulled in too and hadn’t gotten out of the car yet. I got out, looked at the damage. It wasn’t much, just some paint scrape on both our bumpers. (I was later able to get the paint off of mine by myself). I apologized to them. It was obviously totally my fault. We exchanged insurance information and all. And here’s the weird part.

Not only did we both have blue cars basically the same shade of blue, mine a Subaru and theirs a Chevy, but they were both 2002. OK, you say, big deal. Yeah. Big deal. But wait!

Their first names were the same as Shar’s parents. The exact same names. His name is Henry and goes by Hank. Just like Shar’s dad. And the woman’s name is Dorothy. I mean how many elderly couples named Hank and Dorothy do you know? What are the odds? I told them that my ex’s parents have the same exact names, and they weren’t phased by it. OK, maybe they know lots of other Hanks and Dorothys, but I DON’T!

Dorothy goes into the Pharmacy to get Hank’s prescription as he’s not feeling good, staying seated in the car the entire time as we exchanged information. But after she goes in, Hank gets out of the car and starts telling me about how he saw his car coming off the truck as it pulled into the dealership in Butte, Montana and told the salesman he wanted that car and had it ever since. He and Dorothy are originally from Montana and moved down here several years ago to be with their daughter who lives nearby. And maybe, he said, this is time for him to get another car. I couldn’t bear to tell him my own car story, that I got my car used back in Albuquerque shortly before I moved back up here, from a widow whose husband died in it. I figured that wouldn’t be a good tale at the time.
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