Come Onna My House

Ah, Saturday.

When I was a little kid, Saturday meant getting up at dawn to watch cartoons, Johnny Weismuller Tarzan movies, Shirley Temple, the Bowery Boys, and, if I got lucky, a monster movie of some kind. In the daytime, I was allowed to watch monster movies.

At night, I wasn’t. I still don’t understand why my parents thought Nightmare Theater would traumatize me when the same thing in the middle of the afternoon was just cool, but that was their rule. Oh well. Cousin C and I learned to get around that one, when we got older. (you know, older. sixth and seventh grade. older. grown up.)

When I was sixteen, I went to work in the dime store downtown. S.S. Kresge’s; do any of you remember Kresge’s? M&M’s were 49 cents a pound, candy bars were six for a quarter, you could get a hamburger, fries, and a cherry coke for thirty cents, and those huge submarine sandwiches at the deli were two for a dollar. Sliced ham was fitty cents a pound, too. 45 records were 79 cents. Albums were 3.99. CD’s hadn’t been invented yet; heck, cassette tapes were absolutely cutting edge. I had friends with huge refrigerator-sized reel-to-reel units.

I have worked all my life ever since. I have never NOT worked. I can’t imagine not working. When I quit my job at the middle school, I had a few months of panic because I knew I would be no good staying at home, I had to work somewhere. Fortunately, the community college wanted me so I’ve given them my fierce loyalty and I’ve never missed a day. Wherever I work, I give my bosses a fierce loyalty; it takes something really horrible to sway that loyalty. It’s only happened once, in fact.

I have always believed that if I could get out of bed, I could go to work. My daughter is the same; we like to poke fun at people who are crippled by a hangnail and call in sick when they sneeze. (cover your mouth!!!)

Sometimes, going to work with MD isn’t easy, but it’s not going to stop me from getting out of the house and earning my keep in this world. The thought of being completely dependent frightens me; I’ll CRAWL to work if I have to, and sometimes I’ve had to almost crawl once I got there.

You know you’re getting older when the prospect of knee replacement surgery fills you with delight. What’s next, having people over for Metamucil and rice cakes?

Piss on that. Come on over, we’ve got freshly-made apple pie, sugarless cookies, and enough diet pop of every conceivable kind to sink a ship. Just open the door and come on up. If you need help navigating the stairs, just holler and I’ll pull you up. Ring the bell and come on in. We seldom lock the door. We live out in the country. Who’s going to barge in, unwelcome: Bambi?

Come in. Make yourselves at home. What can I do for you?

Stay as long as you wish. Want some generic diet pop? Sandwich? Some nice Oliver Winery soft red wine?

Don’t expect anything ordinary; remember, everything in the bathroom talks, and there’s a life-size human skull in there watching your every move.

Set a spell. Take your shoes off. Y’all come back now, y’hear?

P.S. Have some M&M’s. They weren’t 49 cents a pound, but they were 75% off. You don’t mind Christmas colors, do you?