It was Pa’s 63rdbirthday, which always necessitates a big hoopla because Pa is one of those people who L-O-V-E-S his birthday. I’m the opposite by the way.
Any-who, Nana Grab Bags is happy to accommodate and fulfill Pa’s fantasies of an over-the-top birthday because she is obsessed with holidays, fanfare and all things celebratory.
Yes, goody bags.
And, in those goody bags, among other things? Toe rings. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, toe rings for Pa’s 63rdbirthday. Flower-shaped, bedazzled toe rings.
Why must Nana Grab Bags do this to me? Why must she buy trinkets under the ruse that I might like them when really she knows C.J. will go bananas for them? Because boy did he.
Next thing you know, Nana Grab Bags is calling the family to gather round for a rousing rendition of Happy Birthday to Pa and C.J. hollers….
“Jus’ a mimute, I’s gotta put my toe rings on.”
The music stops. Macho, Mexican-American, born-again-Christian Pa takes a deep breath and steadies himself on the counter. We all wait in awkward silence for C.J. to get his toe rings on. And, then, we break into song.