It was one of those rare Saturdays when I had no absolutely no plans except to sleep in as long as I could. So it was a bit of a shock to my system when my cell phone rang shortly after the Crack O’ Dawn. If it had been the house phone, I would have sworn at the caller, then rolled over and happily ignore it. Yet, this was my cell phone, a number that I only grudgingly give out to a select few. I knew it had to be important.
I stumbled from my bed and groggily made my way down the hall to the living room where my phone was. A quick glance at the caller ID showed that it was only my brother calling. He sometimes “forgets” about the three hour time difference between our homes. (I’m pretty sure he wasn’t on my select list of people I gifted my number to…my mom probably gave him the number. I’ll have to talk to her) I dropped my cell back on the table with a snort and made my way back to bed. Just as I had gotten comfortable, the phone rang again. My sleep addled brain insisted that there was a dire emergency that only I could deal with. I staggered back and answered the phone.
Instead of the panicked voice that I was expecting, I heard the chatty soprano of my niece Eliza. She seemed so excited to be talking to me and jabbered on and on about anything and everything. Despite having the distinct feeling that I was being used as entertainment for a bored six year old, it was hard to be upset at such enthusiasm. (After all, how was she to know that I was trying to be coherent on a scant four hours of sleep?) My brother, on the other hand, should have known better than to have her call so early.
Somehow, the conversation with my niece turned to baths. I happened to mention that her father never ever took one when he was a little boy. She paused for a moment, then asked if he took a shower as that is what he did now. My brain started to wake up a bit as I told Eliza about how her grandmother did everything she could think of to get him clean once he got too big to simply pick up and toss in a tub full of water. The preferred method turned out to be squirting him with a bottle of dishwashing soap and then squirting him with the hose.
After thinking my words over for a moment, my niece asked if people told him to his face how stinky he was. I informed that they never has a chance because any time he got near someone they plugged their noses and ran away from him as fast as they could. He wasn’t even allowed to go to school because he was so dirty and smelly!
Eliza was fascinated by my tale and asked a zillion questions about her father. Questions that I was all too happy to provide elaborate answers for. (I was pretty impressed with how imaginative I was without coffee) When we were finally ready to hang up, I told Eliza that her daddy was really embarrassed about his dirty ways when he was a little boy. She could ask him all about it, but shouldn’t be surprised if he said that it wasn’t true. I informed her that she should just keep asking him all about it.
I climbed back into bed feeling quite smug with myself. As I drifted off to sleep I grinned as my over-active imagination thought of several other somewhat true stories to share with my nieces. lI could have a lot of fun with this. Assuming a certain someone is foolish enough to have them call near the Crack O’ Dawn again….