Thanks for dinner — now get your dog and get out of here
Just about everybody knows Randy Quaid’s role of “Cousin Eddie” in the classic 1983 movie “Vacation.” He’s the country bumpkin who means well, but is not sophisticated in common courtesies or healthy eating habits.
Didn’t think I had one in my circle of acquaintances. But recently, “Cousin Eddie” and his wife showed up unexpectedly on my doorstep.
It didn’t happen completely by accident. I got a phone call out of the blue from Otis and Daisy, saying they would be coming to visit my wife, who was recovering from heart surgery. They would bring lunch.
“That’s OK, Daisy.” I sheepishly said. “You don’t have to…”
“No, no, no, Steve!’ She insisted. “We’ll bring a frozen pepperoni pizza and be there by noon.” (Could there be anything worse for a cardiac patient?)
We knew these folks from years ago as motorhome companions. We didn’t want to offend them by refusing their company. My wife, however, was not really up to entertaining anyone.
Around noon, the phone rang again. “We haven’t left yet, but we’ll be there around 3 p.m.” Daisy announced. “We can’t get the old pickup started.”
We had planned on a noon arrival, and now both of us were starving. I opened the refrigerator door and found some leftover chicken fried rice from a local Chinese deli. Into the microwave went the greasy dish. (OK, not good for the heart either, but when you’re starving, the Dr. Oz rules go out the window.)
At 3:20 p.m., they arrived. “Had a little trouble finding your place,” said Otis. “That GPS thing I got at a garage sale keeps cuttin’ out on me, ha, ha. But we’re here — just like we said! Bring the food in, Daisy, and don’t forget ‘Boomer’ has to wee.”
With that announcement, a large slobbering Rottweiler jumped out of the back of the sandy-colored truck and proceeded to do his business on our front lawn.
Then without hesitation, Daisy and Otis walked into our house, accompanied by Boomer.
“Are you bringing your dog in here?” I surprisingly asked.
“Oh yeah, Steve. He goes with us everywhere.”
With that declaration, Boomer began running through the downstairs area, sniffing every corner for scents of other animals. I was afraid of what was coming next.
“Boomer!” Otis yelled out. “Don’t go up them stairs! (as our cat ran for cover). Don’t worry, Steve. He doesn’t usually leave calling cards in the house, ha, ha.”
Otis turned to Daisy and ordered food be put on the table.
It wasn’t pizza, as we had expected, but a bucket of the Colonel’s finest fowl. Mac and cheese, along with mashed potatoes and gravy were added as “healthy” items. Biscuits smothered in butter were included as well.
My wife and I looked at each other as if to say, “Where do we hide this stuff ?” There didn’t seem to be any viable option, so we just grinned, swallowed as little as possible, and tried to join the conversation.
“Isn’t this the greatest food in the world, Steve?" Otis asked. “I really love the skin!”
“You and your wife are hardly eating anything,” Daisy noticed. “Take more,” while she added additional grease-dripping poultry onto our plates.
Otis didn’t bring any drinks, so I provided a couple of large bottles of Perrier sparkling water. Like a diabetic in crisis, he drank most of it.
We adjourned to the drawing room, and continued conversations about years past in our motorhomes. I noticed my wife politely burping her unexpected meal. Soon, Otis looked at his watch and said it was getting late for their return trip to Chowchilla.
Boomer was on our living room floor scratching his fleas when Otis called him to go outside. They waved goodbye, as the 40-year-old Ford F150 pulled away.
I gave a loud sigh of relief. But then to my surprise, my wife seemed upset. She accused me of being a “Beltway elitist.” She said I didn’t appreciate the sacrifices these folks had just made. “You know, they would do anything for us.”
Well, maybe my wife was right about that. But nevertheless, I can’t say it changed my mind one bit about that drooling dumb dog rolling around on my “elitist” Persian rug!