Frogs on Facebook

www.facebook.com/FIMFormula

ABOUT ME

About me: I'm 42 and added another gherkin to our pickle party of a family. My husband Chuck, our 9-year-old Junior, our 6-year-old Everett, our toddler and I live in a town in Connecticut I affectionately call Mulletville Lite (aka my childhood hometown). My friends call me Nutjob, and they're right. In my husband's spare time he dresses up as a Viking and chases ghosts (and I'm the nutjob?). When I'm not busy working as a graphic designer, I lie in a ball in the corner.

Monday, August 30, 2010

At least her bowel was in her body, Dad

No one’s ever tried to fix me up with anyone. Sure, it would be awkward now that I’m married (and pregnant), but it saddens me that no one cared enough after meeting a handsome beefcake to stop and think, “Hey, Mrs. Mullet might like to jump on this.”

And they call themselves my friends.

Me, on the other hand, I am always thinking of who should be paired. Since my basis for linking people tends to be alcohol-induced and completely unreliable, I never act on my matchy-matchyness. Except when it’s my father.

Mwahahahaha.

My dad’s a great guy. He’s in his 60s and still has all his hair. He goes to the gym. He reads. He’s hopelessly old fashioned. He’s a catch! But lately his chick radar is honed in on his National Geographics and the History Channel instead of on the ladies, and my family, being the pushy busy bodies we are, have pounced on him.

Even his own mother—his 94-year-old mother—won’t leave him alone.

For months my grandmother told him about her nurse, Barbara. How nice she was. How attentive. How lovely her fiery red hair was. And so on. After being hammered nonstop with Barbarisms, my father finally relented and went on a date with Babs.

The date consisted of watching a movie at her house. After she hit play, Babs said she was going to slip into something more comfortable. She changed into a one piece spandex leotard. If you’re J.Lo, this is a good thing. If you’re an out-of-shape 60-year-old with spiked magenta hair and a visible, distended bowel, this is not.

He could see her bowel.

Halfway through the movie, she tried to put the moves on my father. He recoiled. Just as he was about to make an exit, someone knocked on the door. It was the FBI. They believed her son was a big-time drug dealer; they wanted his laptop.

As my father sat on the couch and Babs wept in the hallway, the FBI ransacked her son’s room. (Isn’t my dad a great guy? He actually stayed through the ransacking.)

There was no second date and obviously, my father’s a little gun-shy now when people mention the word “blind date.”

But.

When Chuck and I listed our house with a gray-haired realtor named Cheryl who was a) in her 60s and b) not sporting a wedding ring, I couldn’t help but think of the possibilities. She was sweet and cultured and best of all she offered to help me weed my front walkway. Who does that?

I formulated the perfect plan: While Cheryl helped me weed, Chuck would call my father and beg him to bring over his belt sander.



My father, being the Tool Time fool he is, would agree.

Did it work? Well, kind of.

Twenty minutes after Chuck called my dad he did come over. Instead of his sporty little Camry, though, he was driving his buddy’s rusted van to help with his move. You know, the kind of van you envision when you hear the words “child molester.”



And instead of his typically neat attire, he was wearing an inside-out shirt with paint splatters, ripped shorts and sneakers (yep, moving). Even worse, he smelled like he had spent the better part of the morning rolling around with sweaty farm animals.

“Voila, Cheryl! Your chariot awaits.”

I was still hopeful. Even though he appeared to be a deadbeat molester-type who didn’t own clean socks or soap, love can be blind, right?

Wrong. Despite congenial conversation whilst weeding (isn’t he a great guy? He actually helped weed)



Cheryl made a mad dash for her car as soon as the last weed had been plucked. I think she was on to us. As for my dad, he told us to call Home Depot the next time we need a power tool. Then he peeled out in his smokin' van.

These 60-somethings are one pissy, ungrateful lot, I tell ya.

What about you? Do you match-make in a one piece spandex leotard or have you been match-made?

21 comments:

Reflecting Light said...

This was so funny that I cried a little. :)

The Wifey said...

Baaaahahahahah, my mom and dad have a van just like that. Totally crap-tastic! But I guess that's what you did with a lot of kids in the 80s?

My hubby and I don't play matchmaker, but we were definitely set up on a blind date by friends of our that had met at a club (classy, huh?). Turned out pretty good. :)

Julia said...

My mom in a leotard? Bwahahaahaaa. Now that would be embarrassing and funny at the same time. But set ups? Naw. Too much effort, too many possible ways for relatives and friends to loath me afterward.

Sara said...

In a leotard with the FBI knocking at the door?! hahahaha! Your dad is a good sport. lol

I've never been first on anybodies list when they meet a hot guy or find one available.

tootertotz said...

Hilarious adventures...as usual!

The thing about Babs that gets me:

The leotard thing worked for her at least once. Otherwise, she wouldn't do it. But clearly the way she excused herself almost immediately and 'slipped into it' (and it was probably more like 'crowbarred her way into it' but that surely doesn't roll off the tongue so effectively) leads me to believe this isn't her first time wearing a leotard to the rodeo.

The curious part for me...WHEN did it work for her? I can see it having been a smokin' hot move back when Olivia Netwon-John's "Physical" was rocking the charts but recently? Oh, yeah. That has me atwitter with giggles and not much gets me atwitter.

I try to steer clear of setting people up. Unless I am looking to lose their friendship, in which cae, I become Mary Matchmaker until we're no longer speaking.

Sparkling said...

My policy is to never set anyone up because I'm not interested in being held responsible when things go awry. And I'm convinced it would end one side of a friendship, if not both. No setting for me.

I have never in my life been set up. NOt even once has someone suggested I check out so and so. A few years ago, a teacher I don't even know, was in a grad class with me. Before I even realized what she was saying, she was telling someone that I would be great for so and so. And that someone looked at me like I might like that idea. Until I reminded her that k-ster probably wouldn't like that too much. And the whole table was sad that I had k-ster. I guess the guy must have been quite a catch but I never found out who he was.

Lindy said...

Shut up. The FBI came to her house in the middle of their first date? That's the worst (and by worst, I mean funniest) first date story EVER.

Brandy@YDK said...

wow just wow. your poor dad.

The Mother said...

Went to a bar mitzvah the other night. The grandmother of the honoree showed up (at SHUL!) in a see through knit top, BRALESS.

There is nothing, totally nothing, worse than staring at wizened, 80 yo boobs in a see through top.

Mama Badger said...

If I ever go back on the market I'm stocking up on spandex.

heather said...

I totally would have stayed for the ransacking too. I'd have been thinking the whole time about what a great blog post it will be and wondering if it was ok to take pictures.

♥Georgie♥ said...

Oh.My.GAWD!!!!!

SLColman said...

I laughed so hard I cried reading this!

Frogs in my formula said...

Mama Badger, will it be like Jenny Joseph's "When I am Old I shall Wear Purple" only instead it will be spandex??

Keely said...

Bwahhahhahhahhaha! Your poor dad. I have to say that if I was back on the market at age 60 I'd be willing to make some concessions, but visible bowels? NOT ONE OF THEM.

jadenotjaded said...

My mom is 60, likes the beach, and hiking in the mountains. She is funny and....single!
I wouldn't mind havin you as a step sis! What d'you say? Huh?
Let's bridge the gap between SoCal and Mulletville! :)

Stephanie in Suburbia said...

Hilarious! Oh my gosh, a bowel. That's just so wrong on so many levels! My girlfriend recently guest posted on my blog about being set up by her DAD, of all people, with a gun-loving guy with questionable "freelancing" positions. One that involved a blog FULL of children posing with colored guns (girls pink, boys blue, of course).

blognut said...

I'm having flashbacks of bad blind dates right now - but I can't think of a single time I ever slipped into a one-piece leotard, so I'm pretty sure that they never went bad because of anything I did.

Catootes said...

Leotard, FBI raid? Holy shit, reality is stranger than fiction.

You know, I think your Dad hung around just to watch the train wreck unfold, because reality TV don't get any better.

Nanc Twop said...

lol !

In Mullet-speak wouldn't that be:

"Yo, Cherie! Ya chariot awaits!”
?

p.s.

Hubby is home all day, every day,
Jr is in daycare, and yet you, dad, & realtor are the ones weeding?...

Frogs in my formula said...

Nanc, in Chuck's defense he was scraping paint and weed whacking. You know, the manly stuff.