Buttering Up

The discussion had nearly turned into an argument. Mama had thrown out the infuriating "you remember it how you want to remember it, and we'll remember it how we want to remember it." The debate began with an innocent enough question: "Which dog was it that got buttered? Carmen or Karla?" I knew full well that it was Carmen. After all, I did the buttering. She had dry skin and I overheard the vet say to give her butter. I misunderstood that she was supposed to consume the butter, not get buttered. I was ten or eleven (yes, old enough to know better) when I took a stick of Land O Lakes to her torso. Why, then, were M & D convinced that it was Karla who had been buttered, and at the old house at that?! This was my memory, folks! I had just delivered a kicker of a retort: "Well, it certainly didn't happen more than once. Each family is only alloted one buttering-the-dog story." And then we realized. We have two. The Willis family has two buttering the dog stories. The other one did happen in the old house on Lynwood Drive, when either Marie or Elizabeth (?) fell out of a chair holding a butter knife. After all the appropriate tears had been shed and words of comfort delivered, it was discovered that the pat of butter that had been on the knife was missing. Where could it be? On Karla's muzzle. So we all won the argument (except perhaps for the poor dogs).

Which is all to say that we're having a wonderful visit with my folks. Ben and I trounced them at Trivia Pursuit last night, which is quickly becoming tradition. Tomorrow we'll send them on their way to No Cal, but we trust they'll be back again. We've lost count of how many times they've come to visit since we moved to So Cal in the fall of 2002.

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