Remember true confessions magazines? I don’t remember what they were all called, other than I’m pretty sure there was one actually called True Confessions. I don’t know for sure though. I don’t trust my memory as much as I used to. I guess I could google it, but that requires an effort.
When I was a kid, I loved true confessions magazines. They were seedy and salacious. I asked Randy if he ever read them and he looked at me the way one would look at week old road kill on the dinner table. He didn’t have a moue of distaste, it was more than a moue, more a grimace tinged with superiority. He looked like he had just witnessed the defiling of priceless work of art or like someone suggested he eat snot.
That might also be the first time I have ever used the word “moue”, either spoken or written.
Me: What? You never read them? They were awesome.
Randy: No. No, I never read them.
Me: But you were aware they existed, right?
Randy: Yeah, but I never read them.
Me: Well, aren’t you fancy.
Randy: Fancy enough to find a better use of my time than read stupid true confession magazines.
I’ve been laying here in bed for 30 minutes trying to figure out segue into why Randy is a liar because of Chuck E Cheese and couldn’t come up with anything clever, so instead, I’ve been watching Patton Oswalt on Youtube. I don’t think that qualifies as a true confession. I have no idea how to make that more seedy or salacious. Other than my pajamas don’t match.
Anyway, Randy and I have our own people issues.
I’m not good in social settings where I have to interact with people, but Randy is pretty good at that. He’s just not good when he has to be around large groups of people. Holiday shopping in a mall is his own personal hell.
If you throw in flashing lights, then he is done. So, casinos are right out. County fairs at night are iffy.
Keep this in mind when I tell you about the conversation I just heard between him and our granddaughter.
This is what I heard Randy say: Really? You’re going to Chuck E Cheese? I love Chuck E Cheese.
Randy is a goddamn liar. The only place on the planet he hates more than Chuck E Cheese is a crowded craft store.
I have no idea why the craft store bothers him so much more than other crowded places. The only problem I have with craft stores is I always forget to not buy the candy by the check out. The candy at craft stores is always stale and stale Butterfingers are sad.
I posted the exchange I eavesdropped on between Randy and his granddaughter on Facebook and one of my high school friends said Randy is a good grandpa.
I told my friend that Randy got his oldest grandchild to call him “Mr. Combs” until she was nearly 4 years old. That gets him an “Okay” rating as a grandpa with a strong leaning toward awesome.
He is awesome. I hang truck loads of shit on him because he makes it super easy and it’s my emotionally immature way of showing affection.
So, that is my true confessions admission. My husband is a liar because of Chuck E Cheese. Or perhaps, he’s just an engaged grandpa who wanted to connect with his granddaughter. I’m not sure that story would measure up for the true confessions publications from the seventies.
I’m glad I listened in on Randy’s phone call. I’ve been bogged down in the news and wondering how long I can sustain feeling this horrified and frightened.
I can’t stay mired in the news and tire fire that is our government.
I have decided that I will watch more videos of dogs sledding and kittens stretching. I’m trying to focus more on what makes me feel good, like listening to my husband talk to his 7 year old granddaughter. Who needs true confession magazines when I have a perfectly good husband to hang shit on? That’s certainly better than reading even one more article about the orange psycho puff’s administration.
Patton Oswalt just said “Donald Trump is sour cream in a sauna.” So far, that is the best thing I’ve heard all day. Other than Randy professing his love for a pizza rat.