Cult of Jef

I asked my mother what she wanted for her 50th anniver­sary on Sat­ur­day, and she said, “A divorce!” I was shocked only for a moment before I heard her famil­iar cackle.

““No, really, Mom. What do you and dad want to do?” I asked. My older sis­ter, Vicki, and I had dis­cussed ideas, pos­si­bly send­ing our par­ents on a cruise, but our mother is noto­ri­ous about tim­ing and destinations.

““Well, I don’t know when we’d go,” she said. “I’m not sure when my next belly danc­ing recital is, and I think your father has another colonoscopy com­ing up.”

““What about a cruise to Cancun?”

““Isn’t that where those col­lege kids got decap­i­tated by those devil worshipers?””

““Um, I don’t recall that.”

““Yeah, I think they scooped their brains out and ate Campbell’s Tomato Soup out of their skulls.”

““What about the Bahamas?”

““What if we dis­ap­pear into the Bermuda Tri­an­gle? Your father and I would have to have a yard sale first. I wouldn’t want to bur­den you with all this junk if we’re abducted by aliens from Atlantis.”

I asked Mom if, per­haps, she and Dad wanted a party.

““Who would we invite? Most of our fam­ily and friends are dead.”

““What about Dad’s friends from the gun club and your friends from Zumba?”

““Well, we’re friendly with them when we see them, but they’re not the kind of friends you invite to a golden anniver­sary party. You need to know them a while before you invite peo­ple to that kind of thing.”

““You still have a week,” I said.

““Look, I didn’t even tell the church our 50th anniver­sary was com­ing up. They make you stand up in front of the con­gre­ga­tion and one of the elders present you with an engraved platter.”

““You don’t want an engraved plat­ter to cel­e­brate your half-century of love with Dad?”

““Not if I have to dust it, let alone find a place for it. Where am I going to put it? Your father has ammo and his flash­light col­lec­tion in every room in this house!”

““What if I just send you card?” I asked.

““That would be lovely.”

““Have you asked Dad what he wants to do?”

““I did. He doesn’t really want to make a fuss, except go to Rosa’s Can­tina for din­ner,” Mom said. “It’s Taco Night and seniors receive free drinks. Noth­ing makes your father hap­pier than Diet Dr. Pep­per in a to-go cup.”

““Wow, y’all are grab­bing the bull by the horns, aren’t you?”

In the back­ground, I heard my father snor­ing, and I could pic­ture him, head thrown back against the sofa, mouth open, glasses askew on the bridge of his nose.

“Yessiree, every day with your father is an adven­ture,” Mom said. “What more could a girl ask for?”