I’ve decided to share my latest book (The All-Important, Well-Fed, Giant White Man) with my followers here, free of charge, one chapter at a time. So… Where were we on this read-along… Oh, yes…
Chapter 20: My Punch Drunk Sister
“Shhhh,” I hissed at Janice and Shandy who had begun giggling behind me as I worked to break into my parents’ home. I knew how to finagle the back door just right to unlock it. It was a skill my brother and I acquired in all our years sneaking out of the house at night.
I held my watch up in the moonlight. 2:13 AM. Mom and Dad would not be happy if they knew I was bringing girls home from college this late.
“Shhhh,” I hissed again. Janice and Shandy had begun their giggling anew. They didn’t understand how important it was that we get in undetected.
We had planned to make it there much earlier to watch a movie in my parents’ home theater, but a side trip for some skinny dipping at the hot pots down in Fillmore put us back by a few hours. As it turns out, giant and hilarious floating boobs, dancing the naked can-can, college-style truth or dare, and tip-toeing around cow pies took longer than the half hour we originally planned on.
As it was, we were now four hours from our dorm rooms at SUU, and we’d come too far to turn back.
With a solid butt bump, the door finally popped open. If we could just get inside we’d be okay. My folks never heard anything from inside. It was their thin windows to the outside that I knew were problematic. I ushered my two friends in front of me, closed the door, and we all stood inside the near pitch black theater room while our eyes adjusted.
There on the couch, so far unaware of our entrance, was Tomi Ann.
She was snoring ever so slightly. One arm was draped over the arm of the sofa, the other was wedged beneath her face. She had no pillow or blanket; observably she hadn’t intended on crashing there for the night.
This wouldn’t do. Not only was she occupying the space we needed to sit to watch our movie, we had brought a DVD with us that wasn’t exactly up to Mom and Dad’s strict standards.
In that house, there were very specific appropriate movie guidelines.
Movies could contain none of the following really bad words: the f-word. And I’m not talking about “fastidious” which is just fun to say. I’m talking about the f-word.
Also, none of the following fairly bad words: shit, bastard, bitch.
Also, none of the following not all that bad of words: damn, hell, suck.
Also, the Lord’s name in vain was okay in movies, so long as it wasn’t excessive, and their definition of excessive often changed depending on who was saying it and how harshly it was being said. “Oh my God” said more than twice in a row, and we could count on the movie getting turned off.
Sex in movies was a huge no-no.
Making out was a big no-no.
Even innocent kissing usually made Dad yell out, “cover your eyes!” while he reached for the remote to fast forward to a more appropriate scene. I’m 35; he still does it, though I don’t watch many movies with my parents at all anymore. We just don’t have the same “tastes” when it comes to blood, guts, foul language, bare bosoms, and overly entertaining hanky-panky.