The Happiest Place on Earth (Now Go Sit in the Car)

Mom was feeling low. She was afraid the Tangerine Tito was going to take over the country again. That country being, uh, the Unitedy Yugostates of Amerislavia. But we also had other fish to fry, like the location of her hatchery, uh, pharmacy.

"Why not change your pharmacy to one that's closer to you?"

Mom let out a groan of the damned. "Because I'm not reasonable sometimes. Okay? You have to understand this about your old mom. I'm a broken person."

"Mom, not changing pharmacies does not make you Hitler-adjacent. Just get a place that you can get to if you need something fast. Especially if you're in your bunker and the Soviets..."

"Oh, did I tell you about Joyce? She's getting rotator stuff surgery. That poor woman! She has so many things wrong with her. It must be generic."

"Sounds pretty specific, actually."

"My shoulder has been really hurting me. But look at this." Mom held up her pinky. "See this?"

"What do you want me to swear to?"

"The cut has healed! Or almost. It hasn't bled in months."

A purple bruise zagged along the tip of Mom's pinky. 

"I've had this since your father left me, you know. I got it on the lid of a dog food can."

"Mom, that was fifty years ago. Fifty. Years. Ago."

"I know." Mom smiled. "And now it's looking better. How about that?"

"It's also the anniversary of a special time in my own life."

(Courtesy of Amy Homburger/an Amy Homburger Hamburger)

"What special time?"

"When you were loading suitcases into the car, getting ready for our trip to Denver, and I was jumping around hyper and annoying and I kept asking where we were going, and you told me we were going to Disneyland."

"I never said that."

"You did."

"I didn't."

I sighed. "Been in Disneyland ever since..."

"What?"

"Nothing. Bailey looks like she needs to go out, Mom. Is it poopy time?"

Mom had Bailey pinned against her body, squeezing tight. She looked down at Bailey. The puppy looked back up at her, helpless eyes bulging from their sockets. She blinked Morse code: H-E-L-P 

"I don't think so. But she can go in the bedroom if she needs to."

"The bedroom. Not outside?"

"Not in this heat. Heat is not good for her. She'll explode in sunlight. I read it online."

"So, the bedroom where she..."

"It's okay. I had sod put in yesterday. She has a patch of grass in there to go on."

"What? You can't xeriscape your bedroom like everyone else??"

"Go on, Bay-bay. Make your poopy. See, she likes the grass in there..."

"Ugh. Do I have to mow your bedroom now? Make Chris do it. At least it's conveniently close when you need to shake your fist at those damn kids in your bedroom."

Mom frowned. "You could do worse than me as your mother."

Pause. Lonnng pause.

"Yes?"

I stood up. "I think I'll get going."

"You're not leaving? I'm feeling low. And I'm bored. I tried to watch Kenooby... Kenbobby... Kebubby booby... But I couldn't get into it."

"Well, maybe read a book. I could make some recommendations."

"I mean, it's like Star Wars but with more butt in it."

"Are you okay? Are you having a stroke? I wonder if you didn't get enough oxygen as a fetus."

"And who's fault is that?"

We looked at each other. Then, simultaneously:

"Your father." "Dad."

We smiled. Here's to another fifty years!!