This post has been a long time in coming. I've known my father-in-law for a long time. Since I was 7 or 8 years old, in fact. So, you could say we're pretty close. Perhaps closer than even I knew.
My in-laws were here over Easter weekend, staying at my folk's house. Allen was in the bathroom and when I walked by he said, "hey, baby." He was quick to inform me later that he thought I was his wife. And, I would have dropped it at that, except that later that day we all went to Costco. I was walking beside him minding my own business when he slapped my butt. For some reason it didn't phase me, but he immediately gasped and turned bright red. He thought I was Majaunta. We are about the same size and have the same color and length of hair. I don't think I've ever seen him so embarrassed. It was worth it just to torture him about it later...and don't think I'm above kicking someone when they're down--because I'm not, let me tell you.
I love to pick on Allen. He's an easy target, kinda like his son(s). The McKean men share some startling similarities. Most especially with their valuing of efficiency above all. If you want to sale something to a McKean, you don't regale them with tales of beauty, you dazzle them with functionality. I guess us girls that married them are full of workable parts and that's why we were chosen (I think that my "cooking part" may have a defective piece, however).
Back to Allen. He's a good man. He even recycles. Last Thanksgiving I was helping him make deviled eggs and we were discussing the best way to get the yellow gunk efficiently back into the egg after we'd mixed all the mayo in. He suggested piping it out of a sandwich bag by cutting a hole in the corner of the bag and squeezing it back into the egg. Fantastic. So, he searched through his drawer of used sandwich bags. Would any old bag do? Absolutely not! He had to pick the most used one to desecrate. After all, we wouldn't want to destroy without provocation a nice, new-looking used bag.
I should mention his vehicles. Last time I counted he had about twenty. But, he doesn't drive the nicer ones. He's real into scrap metal especially his early 80's model Ford Escort with red interior. He has prettier vehicles, but the Escort got something like 900 miles a gallon. Which is crucial when you live in Pampa. I think the farthest grocery store is at least 5 miles away. I heard a rumor, perhaps spread by vicious gossip mongers, that he purchased a GPS for his wife for an anniversary gift. GPS is critical in a town fast approaching a population of 15,000 in which you've lived your whole life. What if they add a new street? Where would you be? Lost is where you would be, Allen. Lost.
I'm not finished with the car issue, though. He drives his dad's (Papa) truck instead of his own. And here I should insert an interesting tidbit about Papa. Papa is blind as a bat. He can barely see his hand in front of his face, but he purchases new vehicles every year or so to drive to the mailbox. I find this odd. See, all the McKeans are truly fascinating species.
I can't see Allen purchasing a new vehicle to drive to the mailbox, though. That wouldn't happen. Because Allen is nothing if not efficient and economical. He has a new dishwasher. But, he won't use it because it uses too much water or electricity or soap (it's one of those things, I just can't remember which). And, he won't let Majaunta use it either. So, he has to do all the dishes by hand. Even when all of us come home for a holiday, and there are somewhere around 5,765 dishes he still does them by hand.
I could go on and on. Perhaps a series about Allen? But, before I close, it would be remiss of me if I did not mention his affinity for buffets. We all know how delicious a good buffet is. Any food that can manage not to degrade while warmed under a heat lamp for 42 hours is food I don't want to miss! Where else can you get a plate heaped full of fried goodness for only $8.99? Heartburn? Reflux? Clogged arteries? Small prices to pay when the food is in abundance at such a low price. Besides, all you have to do is take Fiber Therapy and rid your body of those pesky saturated fats.
He's hard not to love, my father-in-law. I hope that this little post doesn't affect in any way the one item that I can't wait to get my hands on. That would be the deep-fat frier he rescued from the side of the road. It's got my name on it.
This is Miss Haven, Ginger the Puppy, and Gabe Koger. Haven and I went over to the Koger's house yesterday and much to my pleasure, discovered that they had a new puppy. Ginger curled right up next to Haven. A future veterinarian perhaps? Mommy hopes so! Aren't the three of them just the cutest?
I love puppies! Especially this one...she has a huge tummy like a little cow.
