She's not leaving me...

All she said after we left was, "Well, you said she was nuts."
"Oh yeah." I said.
"Guess she thinks every Filipino woman is a mail-order bride."
"I'll have to remember to confront her with her prejudices." I said. "I thought your opinions on terrorists were going to make her swallow her tongue."
"Your Grandpa liked them." She said.
"He's old school." I said.
"I tried to be nice." She said.
"Mom loves you." I said.
"I'm adorable." She said. "Or so you tell me."

I don't think my sister could have offended Maricel more...

had she spent a month carefully planning it. I'm not really sure how to describe it. I'm still dizzy and a little nauseous. It seemed pleasant enough. We arrived with our gooey butter cake in hand for a nice dinner with my parents, Grandpa and my sister. For reasons I can't even begin to fathom, Sis seems to think I bought Maricel in the mail. But that's not Marciel's fault, since she's an ignorant poverty-stricken third world girl forced to sell herself to a disgusting American comic book dealer. To which Maricel said something like, "Are you calling me a prostitute?"
Desperately trying to stop the volcano from spewing forth, I babbled something along the lines of "We met discusisng the X-Men in a forum."
"Sure." My Sissy said. "You hang out in dork chatrooms talking about superhereos." Then she asked my parents if they were embarrassed to have raised a son such as me who bought women.
Grandpa jumped in and asked Maricel if she'd ever watched NASCAR. Then he began to explain the history of the sport and the current standings in the race for the Nextel Cup. I went out in the garage to hang myself with some clothesline. Dad came out and suggested that I not. But I didn't really see any point to living.
"She gets like that." Dad said.
"You built that beast." I responded. "Destroy her!"
"Calm down." Dad suggested.
"The woman is working on a master's degree in education. She can type sixty words a minute. She's not a hooker!"
"Clearly." Dad said sensibly. "Your sister is..."
"Crazy! Crazy! And mean! Mean! And trying to ruin my freaking life!"
"She's just trying to save Maricel." Dad said.
"From me!" I said. "What's wrong with me."
"You're a man." Dad said. "We're the enemy."
"She's got no problem sleeping with the enemy." I said.
"Simon, that's my daughter you're talking about."
"Then you're the one to tape her mouth shut." I tossed him a roll of duct tape from the workbench.
"You guys are a little old for this stuff." Dad said as if I were the nutter butter.
"If she leave me..." I said.
"Nobody ever left someone they loved over their goofy siblings. Thank goodness or I'd be living alone." Dad said. He took my clothesline and took me inside and fixed a pretty strong Martini for me. Martini and NASCAR. What could be better.

This was my Sunday afternoon...