Has She Always Been This Crazy?
This happened almost 40 years ago. My immediate family was, for the most part, perfectly normal and boring.
We were not prone to outbursts and tantrums. It was very calm and quiet. Everyone got along and we were pretty happy with our boredom.
I tell you that so you understand that I had absolutely no experience at all with people prone to screaming fits.
You should also know that I suffer from a case of terminal morbid curiosity. I also don’t care about pleasing other people. Never did. Never saw the fun in it.
This happened when we were visiting for my great auntie’s funeral. I was 12. My one aunt insisted that we all go out to dinner at her favorite Italian restaurant. It was just the best, she said so and she was never wrong. The gimmick here was a little flag of Italy on the table.
When you wanted more dinner rolls, you raised the flag. This is important. Flag up, you get rolls. Flag down, no rolls. Remember that.
The six of us are seated, they take our drink order and bring the breadbasket. With us is my poor long-suffering uncle who will one day be made a saint for being married to this woman for over 20 years.
It started with the drink order. Aunt: We will have five sweet teas. Dad: I’ll have a Coke. Mom: I’ll have a Coke. Me: Tea, no sugar (This is a mortal sin in the south).
Aunt: Don’t be silly, you can’t have sweet tea without sugar! Me: I don’t like sugar. Aunt: That’s stupid. Bring her sweet tea. Waitress (who winked at me): Yes, Ma’am. Uncle: I think I’d like a Coke as well.
Emily, their daughter: I’d like a Coke. Aunt: We drink Pepsi, not Coke. We are having sweet tea. The waitress brought us our requested drinks. My aunt was growing agitated. See, likes to control everything and everyone. So she told us what to order for dinner.
I’m not going to get into an ethical debate here, but I refuse to eat veal. She demanded we all have the veal.
I refused. I knew this would set her off but, oh well. I’m not eating veal. My parents, after I had explained to them years earlier why I would not eat veal, refused to eat it as well.
Did I mention I get my “I don’t care about pleasing you” quality from my parents? Well, they didn’t care either. They were perfectly capable of ordering whatever they wanted.
So they did. I had lasagna. It was good. My mother’s was better. Once we ordered what we wanted, it emboldened my uncle and he stepped out of line and ordered something else as well. My aunt was NOT. HAVING. IT. Aunt: You are getting the veal. Uncle: No, I feel like something else tonight.
Aunt: The veal is the best. Uncle: I still want something else. Aunt: You won’t like it. Uncle: I’m sure I will. Aunt: You don’t know what you are talking about.
Uncle: I know what I like. Aunt: Well you can’t have it. Uncle: Yes, I can! Aunt: I said no! Uncle: Well, I’m ordering it! Aunt: You always get the veal!
Uncle: Because it’s your favorite and you make me. I don’t even like Italian food! Aunt: Yes you do, it’s your favorite.
Uncle: I want the lasagna. Aunt: Order what I tell you to order. Uncle: No. Lasagna. Emily: I’ll have the lasagna, too. Aunt: You can’t have that, you are allergic. Emily: No, I’m not.
Aunt: I’m your mother, I know what you can and can’t eat. Aunt: (to the waitress): Bring her the veal, right now!
The whole time this is going on, I am looking from one to the other like watching a tennis match. Back and forth, with the pitch of her voice getting more and more shrill with each sentence.
I was fairly certain that when we left bats would have been summoned. I’m just watching them and eating a dinner roll…The food arrives and everyone got what they wanted, even Emily, much to the fury of my aunt. Then it happens.
My uncle raises the flag. My aunt puts it down. He puts it back up. She takes it back down. Up and down, up and down.
I see the bread guy hovering at the edge of the table…..waiting. The flag goes up and he rushes in to drop off the new basket before it can go back down.
My aunt grabs the basket and throws it at the kid that delivered it. To save time and typing, every time my aunt speaks, the flag goes down.
The rest of the time it goes up. Aunt: You don’t need any more bread! Uncle: But I want more. Aunt: I said no. Uncle: I’m an adult, I can have more bread if I want.
Aunt: No you can’t. Uncle: Why, just tell me why I can’t have more bread. Aunt: Because I said so. You aren’t listening to me.
Uncle: I’m hungry and want more bread. Aunt: You wouldn’t be if you had ordered the veal! Aunt: Yes I would. I always am but you never let me have more bread. Tonight I get more!
Me: I want some more bread, too. Aunt: No, you have had enough. Me: No, I really think I want more. Aunt: Well, you are wrong.
Me: You seem upset. Aunt: That’s because you people aren’t listening to me. Me: Yes we are. We just don’t care. We want more bread.
Dad (to me while trying not to laugh at how absurd this is): You aren’t helping. Me: I think you want more bread too.
At this point the whole darn place is watching our table and the battle over the flag. I’m fairly sure there were people taking bets to see who would win.
In the middle of the confusion, a nice lady sitting at another table nearest Emily tapped her and slipped their fresh bread basket to her.
Emily took a roll and slipped it to me. I took one and slipped it to my father, then it went to my mother who, after taking a roll for herself, slipped one onto my uncle’s plate.
If you can believe it, it got even more ridiculous from there. My aunt saw it and grabbed for it. My uncle was faster. He shoved the whole thing into his mouth at once. It was a big roll.
The waitress approached the table to check to see if we needed anything (Xanax was unfortunately not on the menu) and my aunt demanded she bring the check. Me: I want dessert. Chocolate cake. Uncle: Sounds great! I’ll have some. Emily: Me too. Dad: I’ll have apple pie.
Mom: I’ll have cheesecake. Bring cheesecake for [aunt]. She loves cheesecake. Aunt: NO! We are not having dessert.
We are getting the check and leaving. NOW! Dad: No, we aren’t. Aunt: Well, I’m leaving. You can all walk home. Dad: I drove. It’s our car. Aunt: I know, give me the keys.
Dad. Nope. Aunt: You have to give me the keys. I live here. You are just visiting. Dad: Yes, I’m just visiting. With my family. In our car.
Aunt: It’s MY state! Dad: I don’t care. It’s my car and you can’t have it. You’re a terrible driver anyway. Aunt: No I’m not! Dad: You drive the wrong way on the freeway.
Aunt: No I don’t. It’s the other cars going the wrong way! Dad: You get lost in your own neighborhood. Aunt: Not always.
Dad: You are not driving my car. Aunt: Yes I am! Dad: No you aren’t. That ladies and gentlemen, continued while we ate dessert and paid the check (my father was buying).
As we walked to the car, and for the entire trip back to their house, my father drove. We dropped them off and went back to our hotel room. Dad to my mom: Has your sister always been this crazy?
Mom: No, it started when she was about three. Dad: What happened? Mom: She started speaking in complete sentences. Dad: Ah…… ACCER1