I ain’t tryin-ta sound ol’ fashioned; but hell, maybe I am cuz’ folks is doin’ too much deez days. Folks make the most simplest of thangs so grand that the thang ain’t even enjoyable no mo.
My grand-niece just got outta the kindygarden -she’s as pretty as a peach (which is a surprise cause her daddy ain’t much to look at, which got me looking at my niece a lil’ suspicious-like) But back on the subject, my niece called me askin’ if I was comin’ to the graduation party. I said, “whose graduation party?” She said “Danitha’s.” Now I ain’t said nothing to her, but who da hell “graduates” from kindygarten? Don’t you just move on to the 1st grade? What in tha hell are we celebratin’ – that she moved on like everybody else? Are we surprised? Did she accomplish something?” Is she the kindygarden valedictorian or something? Does she know her ABCs better than eerbody and doesn’t cut in line? I went to the party though cause my niece is a real good cook, but the whole time I was eatin’ her gumbo I was thinkin’ how damn ridiculous it was. Baby-girl can’t even spell the word, “graduation” but we giving her a graduation party like she done did somethin!
My other niece, my middle-sister’s daughter, just got engaged and they rented the whole back room of this restaurant up the street to celebrate. Again, what in the hell are we celebratin? The boy she’s marrying ain’t worth a 3-dollar bill. He’s worth almost as much as that aluminum foil ring he bought her. Seem like we just need to get together and offer da girl some coping advice cause that’s what she gonna need if dat boy actually marries her. I just feel it’s fake to host a celebration for somethin that all of us know ain’t nothin’ to celebrate. Let’s just all save our money to help her with the divorce or with bail later. I’m just sayin.’
Now I ain’t tryin’ to be mean; but we gots to be practical about some stuff.
But, eeer’body wants to be extra deez days. What’s goin on with deez chillren’s prom situations? Back in my day I remember that I was just happy that D.J. Thompson, with his wavy hair and big feet, asked me to the prom. Naw child. Now deez men gots to do a prom-posal. Boys walking into schools with bunches of balloons looking like Homey tha Clown as part of elaborate plans to ask someone to the prom. Really? As the young folks say, Girl Bye. Do you wanna go or not? Hell.
But it don’t stop there — once they decide to go to the prom — then the Beyoncification of the situation commences. My cousin’s grandbaby invited us all over to see her off to prom last week. I thought that was real sweet. But then I got there and I couldn’t even go inside. They had me standing outside waitin for the “presentation.” What da hell is a “presentation?!” I was kinda mad because they know my feets is bad, but I stood against one of the oak trees in the yard and waited along with the rest of the family and what seemed like the entire neighborhood. After about 10 minutes, some crazy-ass music started blaring and smoke started coming out of the front door. At first I thought the house was on fire cause it’s old and sometimes June Bug falls asleep in the middle of smoking one of his Newports. But before I could holla, two teenagers dressed alike came out a did some sort of dance that made me feel like I should throw some dollars like I see in the movies (But no one else did, so I didn’t). Then the dancers rolled out a red paper carpet and my cousin’s grandbaby sashayed out. That girl posed and twirled so much that the paper carpet was ripping, but I will say that she looked quite nice. Folks took pictures and I think that she felt pretty. They drove off in a rented Mercedes (I know it was mos definitely rented because June Bug’s car was repo-ed just last month but that ain’t none of my business).
But what is my business is my baby boy. He and his trifling wife is pregnant (she’s the one who’s pregnant but deez days when I guess everything gotta be equal we supposed to say the man is pregnant too. They’s pregnant). She acts like she is the first one to spread her legs and get pregnant. We had to go to some big dinner at Sizzler so they could announce it. Then they had this party where they announced if the baby was a boy or a girl—some mess called a gender-reveal. Now they are about to go on a Babymoon in Florida (a trip before the baby is born). When they get back the gal’s sister is throwing her a shower. And the gal keeps talkin’ about what my son is gonna get her for a push-present. Dey given presents for that nowadays? Hell, if THEY havin’ a baby, seem like my son should get a gift too.
None of it makes no sense to me. Just seem like a lot is made of regular thangs. Foolishness, but I’ll go to all of it — ‘specially now that I’m retired and all.
But they sure-as-rain betta know, I ain’t bringin’ no gift.
Aunt Randi’s hobbies are talking shit and drinking wine—preferably at the same time.