Jamie’s Great Inheritance

Today is Bode’s four-week birthday. You haven’t seen any pictures of him lately because he has hit early puberty. (Translation: his formerly flawless skin is now covered in big, pussy pimples.) And not the fun kind. (Translation: fun kind being those I can actually pop. Yes, I’m sick like that.)

Now, don’t go lecturing me that I should be taking tons of pubescent pictures. I did that with Haddie during what I call The Blotch Phase, when her little body was blotchy, sore and red. And you know what? Those pictures still make me cringe to this day. I’m sure she’ll burn them when she’s in her teens because “Like, how totally gross!”

At least that’s what I did (burned all ugly pictures of myself) when I was a teen, though a few did manage to slip through the cracks. “The cracks” meaning my sadistic brothers who sent the worst picture ever to my new fiance. Some of you may know him. A man some call James. A man with a sick, twisted sense of humor. A man who posted Said Blackmail Picture on our front door the first time he welcomed me home to our new condo.

Oh well. What goes around, comes around and tonight, he got just a bit of payback. I’m sure most of us have dreamed of coming into a large inheritance from a wealthy great uncle we never knew. Jamie’s was named Uncle Jesse. OK, so maybe he wasn’t exactly rich or even related but Jamie befriended this older man last year. I think Jesse had a man-crush on Jamie because he called him (at minimum) five times a day. While tiresome, my sweet husband never whined or complained about it. That was always my job.

Our phone stopped ringing a few months ago when Uncle Jesse passed away suddenly in a tragic car accident. Sweet Hubby delivered his eulogy and never once expected anything out of it. But tonight, we discovered just how overrated money truly is. Uncle Jesse did leave one of his most prized possessions for Jamie: his old, ratty set of golf clubs, which Jamie tested out this evening.

Trying to be supportive as he swung away on our front lawn, I commented,
“You know, it really is sweet of him to bequeath these to you.”

Jamie mumbled some words of gratitude as he practiced his swing. After a few attempts, he walked over to the old leather bag and started going through the pockets and retrieving the contents.

“A Colorado Rockies jacket!” He announced. It looked and smelled like it had never been washed, neither of which stopped my father from claiming it.

“Golfing gloves!” Those were at least new.

But then came the clincher as Jamie paused and reluctantly pulled. “A diaper?” he queried. And then the sad truth was revealed: ’twas an adult diaper. And there wasn’t just one, but two. How’s that for an inheritance?

And so the quest begins for a long-lost uncle but now the qualifications have been altered. In addition to being rich without any posterity, we are preferably seeking one with bladder control.

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