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Learning to Fall: Valentines
Momma and Dad will spend this evening the same way they have every Valentines since before me and my sloppy kissing, smelly, tongue biting sister were born. They'll boil two real live lobsters and then Dad'll toss 'em on the grill for five minutes to make 'em all smoky the way mom likes just about everything, probably on account of her smoking so much. Then the two of them will drink exactly three bottles of champagne and sing and dance to music that's from a hundred years ago until they pass out in the living room on the couch where we'll find them tomorrow when we get back.
For as long as me or Zit Head can remember we get put up with Gill and his girlfriend, Harriet, where we will have to eat things like kidney pie and goat cheese and tomato aspic with slimy fruit compote and we won't be able to leave the table until we eat most of it no matter what and Harriet's real strict about even taking a drink to wash it down between bites. We'll stay up late like we always do and play cards, which is okay, but by the end of the night all our clothing and hair will smell like those rotten little cigars he smokes and the long Virginia Slims Harriet smokes with a stubby cigarette holder like she's royalty or a movie star or something.
Only this year I'll be scouting out everything I can for Terry's and my plan to bring down that hairy, liver-lipped frenchie and Alex will be there with us in case he tries to kiss me.
Happy Valentines Day.
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