(Favorite Aunt and Uncle are sitting together on the sofa. Enter KF, carrying bags and car keys.)
KF: Okay, Favorite Aunt, I’m leaving for the airport now. I’ll see you tomorrow.
Favorite Aunt: You’re leaving?
KF: Yes. I’ll see you tomorrow.
Favorite Aunt: Okay, honey. See you tomorrow.
Favorite Uncle: You’re leaving?
KF: Yes. I’m going to pick R. up at the airport. I’ll see you tomorrow.
Favorite Uncle: You’re not coming back here?
KF: No, we’re going back to R.’s apartment.
Favorite Uncle: So when are we going to see you again?
KF: I’ll see you tomorrow.
Favorite Uncle: Okay, we’ll see you then.
(Exit KF, smiling through gritted teeth.)
It never fails. I’ll say something to my mother and Favorite Aunt will catch only part of it, but being insatiably curious she’ll ask what we’re talking about, so I’ll repeat it to her. Only she won’t hear part of it, so I’ll have to repeat it again, slightly louder. At which point Favorite Uncle, who is the deafest of the bunch, will begin to realize that something is being said that may or may not involve him, so he’ll go “what?” And I’ll say even louder and for the fourth time whatever it was that I was saying to my mother in the first place, which is inevitably either of absolutely no importance to anyone other than me or else is somewhat personal and something I’d prefer not shouting to everyone in the neighborhood.
I love my relatives dearly, and as R. would no doubt chime in here, at least they’re not certifiably crazy. But they’re all stubborn as crap, and are completely convinced that I mumble. All I want for Christmas at this point is a healthy infusion of patience.
That, and a 767 headed for Europe.