Skip McCaulkener and Fire Chief Amos tell it like it is, and can't let it be.
Dear Fake Life Coaches,
I love family reunions, but I’m dreading the next one because my parents are nuts. They used to be peaceful normal people, then they turned 49 and flipped the f#@k out. Their divorce was awful. They literally battled over everything. I mean, are garden gnomes really worth eighteen stitches and a torn ACL? I don’t think so.
Relatives from both sides say the reunion will help them reconcile. Little do they know, the restraining orders have barely expired and Mom still keeps trying to steal the Kirby. Sheesh. Just seeing my folks will be a new kind of horror. My CPA dad got highlights and grew a weird-ass man bun. He also ditched his khakis for skinny jeans and changed his ringtone to Five Finger Death Punch.
My pediatrician mother got a pixie cut, pierced her tongue, and has a flock of tattoo butterflies erupting from her cleavage. She claims she’s always had a wild streak, but I blame her new Harley buddies. What’s everyone going to say when she rolls up in leather chaps and winged eyeliner? She might even have Tad on the back. Tad’s her twenty-year-old boyfriend. Because, yeah, my folks are dating former high school classmates of mine.
This reunion is a total clusterf@#k waiting to happen. Should I warn my relatives ahead of time or just stay quiet and hope for the best? Maybe I should book a cruise and skip the reunion altogether.
Signed, Nervous in Nevada
Your mom sounds hot. She and Tad exclusive?
Criminy, Skip. Nervous has a real problem here.
Nervous doesn’t have a problem. The people who can’t accept change have a problem. My plastic surgeon always says new parts make happy hearts. Speaking of, the bandages just came off my pec implants. Nervous’ doc mom should do a very thorough inspection.
Nervous, the answer is yes. Warn your relatives in advance. Nobody likes that kind of surprise.
Are you kidding? Surprises are sexy as hell. This one time, my secretary took off her glasses, let down her hair, crawled across my desk, and—
I’ve met Belinda. That didn’t happen.
Well, it could. Someday. Maybe. The point is, surprises aren’t always bad. Reinventing yourself isn’t always bad.
Forty-somethings should not be dating twenty-somethings, Skip. Nor should they go out in public dressed like rodeo clowns.
You kidding me? Piercings, tattoos, and man-buns are trendy.
Trendy is swapping formica for quartz. Trendy is ditching your push mower for a John Deere. These folks are trying too hard to be something they’re not. Next thing you know, they’ll shave their heads and join a cult.
How do you know they weren’t this way their whole lives? How do you know they weren’t just repressing themselves to please someone else?
Because it’s a damn midlife crisis. They need to grow the hell up.
Or the relatives need to hop on the tattoo party train. I know a guy who travels. Cleavage butterflies for everyone!
That’s a terrible visual. Like I said, Nervous, warn your relatives, and let your folks know they’ll embarrass you if they don’t behave like civilized adults.
Civilized adults in ass-less chaps.
And tell them to leave their kiddie dates at home.
Better yet, tell your hot mom to call me. I’ve got a collection of chaps. Okay, I don’t, but I will by the time she calls.