I have a favorite aunt. I haven’t seen her for a while which, as she might say, “is shitty.” She would be right. When I was a kid, I loved sleeping at her house. She wasn’t like the rest of my family. She was a single mom of two kids and worked her way up in a trucking company. I have learned more from her than I have from many other adults in my life – one of the many reasons she is my favorite aunt and why I loved our sleepovers.
In the mornings, I would wake to the delicious smell of coffee. I’d walk into her kitchen to find a freshly lit cigarette, poised just so, in an ashtray next to the coffee pot. My aunt would walk by, take a drag off the cigarette, and then ask me to rub oil on her back so she could work on her tan. These weren’t the only reasons she was my favorite aunt. She also had a sunken bedroom with red shag carpet and swords encased in red velvet matted frames and, most importantly, she had a mouth like a sailor. Or, more apropos, like a trucker.
Sadly, the smoking, and perhaps genetics, wreaked havoc on her health. After surviving a mastectomy – she never had cosmetic surgery and would tell my uncle, “I’m going to the city and I’m not taking my titty (prosthetic)” – she was diagnosed with throat cancer.
This was a real blow to all of us – especially her. Being that she wouldn’t be able to verbalize her feelings for some time, she asked my mama to stay by her side in the hospital to help her communicate with the nurses. On one occasion, a nurse was really upsetting my aunt. So, she grabbed a pad of paper, quickly scribbled on it, and handed it to my mama to read. “I’m not reading that,” my mama told her. Not losing one ounce of attitude, my aunt gestured with her head as if to say, “You will.” “She wants me to tell you to fuck off,” my mama told the nurse. Ah, I love my aunt so much!
That’s Not Chinese is definitely going to be this aunt. I can already hear the conversation with her nephew, “Can you please pour me another glass of wine? Thanks sweetie. Fuck these corns on my feet.” For the most part, she already does this now. When Little Sleep, or any other wee one, is around, That’s Not Chinese maintains her language skills. This typically causes Sleepless a bit of anxiety. Ice Cream Man also gets a little anxious about this, but in a different way, “Why do I get in trouble for swearing and they don’t?” he’ll ask Sleepless. “They” usually means That’s Not Chinese and I.
I was discussing these language matters with That’s Not Chinese and she said, “I’ll just tell my nephew, ‘It’s OK when you’re here, but don’t say this shit in front of your mom.'” She forgot to add, “Can you please pour me another glass of wine? Thanks sweetie. Fuck these corns on my feet.”
Apparently, Sleepless is not alone in her feelings about swearing in front of the young ones. Cream Of Tartar recently advised Opreggano that she’ll need to watch her language once the baby is born and,”maybe you should start now.” “Are you?” I asked her. “Hell no. I’d much rather my kid say ‘fuck’ than…(insert whispered words).” She has a good point. Besides, being bilingual is good for the brain and, since many of our lawmakers want English only in school, it is up to us to teach them a second language. In this case, Latinum vulgare, both at home and in utero (those last two words are Latin, mother fucker).