Does This Body Make Me Look Fat?

Last week, after entertaining my brother Dan for dinner, on his way out the door, he made the almost fatal mistake of asking, “So, by the way, when did you get fat?”

Silence fell on my front stoop where he was puffing on a cigarette, “Oh, I don’t know, when did you get stupid?” I asked, as I whacked him off the top of his balding head.

I am one of six children: three boys, three girls. I am the middle girl and Dan is youngest boy…does that justify eating, or, better yet, tossing your young under a passing truck?  I would have expected it from the two older boys, but not from Dan, who is usually quite charming.  He might as well have hit me in the face with a brick.  To think, I had just fed the son-of-a bitch.
 
As I was silently digesting the question in disbelief, his cue to run should have been obvious; for I am hardly ever speechless.  But to make matters worse, he did not and went on to dig himself deeper.  “What happened?  You were always the skinny one."  He was referring to my two sisters who will not be happy when they hear about this.  Of course, I am going to tell.  Who could resist?

Fighting back tears, I screamed,  “I am so telling Mom you called me fat!” as I stormed into my house slamming the door in his face, careful not to let  it hit me in the ass on his way out! Hard to believe considering how big it apparently has become, according to my nitwit brother.

The next day at work, my oldest brother Bob, who works at the family business with me innocently asked, “So, how was your night?” as he peered over the Boston Herald.  A question we ask each other every morning but don’t care much for the answer. Much like a married couple, we just go through the motions and give the usual “fine“.

Bob was completely dumbfounded, and yet excited when I told him “Horrible Danny called me fat.” as I started to cry at my desk.

He drops the paper and calls our middle brother Ted, “Meet me at the office…Loretta is crying and Dan just won idiot of the year award.  A dope slap may be in order.”

“Loretta never cries.  WTF did Dan do?” Ted asks.

“He used the F word. Need I say more?” Bob says with a chuckle.

“He needs more than a dope slap…what was he thinking and how much did he have to drink?”

“Regardless Ted, she is calling mom.”

“Oh, no, not Mom, we will ALL never hear the end of this.”

Good news in my family usually goes un-noticed and certainly does not travel as fast as bad.   To think even in our late forties we are still ratting each other out just like my teenagers.  Will it ever end?  NO.

“Loretta, he couldn’t possibility have meant it.” This is my Irish Catholic mothers excuse for EVERY stupid thing my three brothers have done, sober or not.  And depending on how many martinis she has had “they“ at one time or another  have walked on water without ever getting their feet wet.  You see my mother Alice is, -- oops, "was" -- a good Catholic.  Why else would she have six children with a man she couldn't stand.  We are relieved she wasn’t a GREAT Catholic; there’d be 12 of us.     

“Mother, Dan thinks I’m fat.  And he is a complete ass wipe for saying it OUT LOUD. I mean, my GOD, there are just some things that are better off unsaid, regardless of how much chardonnay one has had.  Doesn’t he know the no-no’s by now?  We don’t talk about: politics, family business, sex, drugs (who tried what when young) current and ex-spouses, each other’s children, and most of all the size of ANYONE’S ass, thighs, boobs or penis.   Apparently he has not read the warning label.  Just what else could he have meant by it?”

“Loretta, it is no secret that your brothers can be total shits, and I am thankful none of them have been incarcerated.  Having raised Dan under the bad influence of Bob and Ted, I did the best I could.  Look at the bright side, most of you are still communicating.

“Mom, Julie tried to stab Bob with a steak knife at a dinner party.  Communicating or not, I don’t think that’s appropriate dinner behavior, no matter what the conversation was.”

“Frankly, I think she overreacted.   He merely bit her neighbor---who totally deserved it, I might add.”

“No, mother, you may not.  And just how do you justify that?”

“Well, Bob was telling his famous dog biting joke, and the neighbor got in the way.  For heavens sake, he didn’t even break the skin.”

“Yes, mom, you are correct, Julie’s neighbor is a total idiot for picking the seat next to Bob.  We should put a warning label on him, its the least we can do.”

“You know how excitable he can be: it is never a good idea to sit next to Bob, especially when alcohol is involved.  Anyway, I don’t think Dan was thinking clearly when he made that comment. I mean, you look just fine, Loretta. He is very upset.  Could you call and apologize?”

“Only if I can bite him.”

So as you watch your children, no matter what age, jam and slam each other,  keep in mind,  there are three things in life that are a guarantee; death, taxes and sibling rivalry.

No, it never ends.

Thank God.  According to my mother Alice, it means we all still care for each other.

There will be nothing left to bite; my sisters will eat him alive when they read this.