My wife is a sparkling jewel that has risen atop a steaming shit stained pile of white trash.  That’s the first line of the blog I wanted to write at the end of last week.  But I didn’t, at least I didn’t post it.  I wrote it, oh I wrote the shit out of it.  But I didn’t post it because I didn’t want to hurt my wife’s feelings.  Better yet, I didn’t want her to think about the situation that led to the first line of this blog anymore than she had to.  

Five hours after closing two bars in Reno (yes, it’s possible) my wife called to tell me her mother was in the hospital because her brain was bleeding.  Most of her family was telling her it didn’t look good, and she should get up there as soon as she could.  Two hours later I got another call to let me know the bleeding had stopped, but now there is a blood clot in her brain.  Whew, that was close… wait, um, I think.  

Like any sensible husband who’s never been on TV, at this point I’ve changed my flight and heading home.  Within an hour or so, I’m sitting in a leather seat trying to figure out if US Air will catch their mistake of only charging me an extra $500 to change my ticket.  Suckers.  When this thought fades away (who am I kidding, I’m still fuming about that shit), I get another call to inform me, false alarm, she’s fine.  The nurse has explained to my wife that her brain was never bleeding, she never had a clot, she only had a small knot on the back of her head.  Aren’t we happy she’s okay?  Yes, we’re just as happy as we were two days after our house burned when instead of figuring out if we should buy underwear or food first, we were listening to this same woman tell us about her brush with death.  It appears she had a massive heart attack but they said it was okay for her to go home from the hospital.  When my wife got there to pick her up she witnessed her mother arguing with the doctor about the validity of this supposed heart attack.  It appears that death did not touch her.  It didn’t even whisper in her fucking ear.

This is what I have come to know as normal behavior for my mother-in-law.  It’s actually normal behavior for everyone in my wife’s immediate family.  It’s odd that even though the rest of her family lives on the same road, only my mother-in-law’s house trailer has been stricken with an inability to avoid ignorant and sometimes felonious behavior.  Even as I write this I feel sure the idiot in question is attempting to convince someone that with her heart attack, bleeding brain, and lack of my love she probably won’t make it until the end of the year.

There are many more details to this store that infuriate me, but I’m forced to omit them out of respect for my wife.  It amazes me how she was able to escape this vacuous chamber of disrespectful moronic behavior and become the levelheaded wife and mother that she is today.  Her mom has contributed to the ruin of at least 3 lives that I’m aware of, isn’t my wife obligated to inherit at least some of that crazy and pass it on to our daughters?  Shouldn’t she at least fake a hernia surgery?  If she’s hiding the crazy, she’s been doing it for 10 years.  So again, out of respect for her I won’t mention the other issues with her immediate family.  Her grandparents are lovely people so there is no reason to mention that her mother has actually told people I’m going to murder my wife and make it look like an accident.  Every aunt, uncle, and cousin I’ve met have been nothing but gracious towards me and my children so what reason is there to bring up that my wife’s sister allegedly contracted herpes at age 15 while living in an abandoned school bus.  My wife has been the perfect companion for a very long time and because of that I don’t think it’s right to tell the entire world that I’m pretty sure her niece hasn’t been able to walk across a parking lot since age 13 without sucking a dick.  I keep all these secrets to myself, because it’s the right thing to do.

I can’t say it any better than my girls.

Outside my extremely warm hotel suite

When we arrived at the airport in Charlotte my untraveled friend Dave informed me he was not aware he couldn’t take his pocket knife on the plane.  The quick decision was made to toss the knife in the trash before we reach security so we’re he’s not cavity searched and we’re I’m not delayed any further.  On the way to security we decide to play it safe and check with two TSA officers about the nail clippers he has also seen fit to carry with him (apparently I’m an unkempt bastard who never trims my nails during travel).  They advise us the nail clippers won’t be a problem… as long has we don’t have any knives, chuckle chuckle (these fuckers were psychics).

I pass thru security with no problems.  I assume this is because training to be a terrorist involves actual training and it’s obvious from about 40 feet away exercise is not one of the ways I choose to kill time.  While I’m putting my shoes back on I notice Dave speaking to another TSA officer who is holding his backpack.  Dave’s not one for patience with law enforcement so for a few seconds there is a lot of huffing and eye rolling until Mr. TSA shuts this attitude down with the question, “Why do you have a box cutter?”  He now has Dave’s full attention.  Immediately after the box cutter in question was found yet another even larger pocket knife is pulled from Dave’s bag.  I now realize I may be making the rest of this trip solo. 

Now, forgetting one pocket knife in your possession is probably standard practice in the south.  Considering we both live in a very small rural town the second knife in question is possibly acceptable as well (easy city folk, where we come from sometimes it is necessary to field dress a bear just before lunch).  However, I’m fairly certain the even screaming children who are about to annoy everyone without noise canceling headphones (thank you Bose) are aware that the entire reason we need this facade of safety is because of a few box cutters that made it thru a few years back.

The TSA officer has finally finished the search of Dave’s bag and informs him he has a few options.  Dave informed me later at this point he was sure one of the options was going to be handcuffs and a finger in his ass.  But, apparently there is no god because my prayers were not answered.  Dave’s options were:

1.  remove the blade and keep the box cutter (more on this later)

2.  throw both WMD’s away.

3.  pay $10 each to mail each item home.

Dave opt’d to mail the knife home and throw the box cutter away out of appreciation for not presenting any of the options he had imagined.  Great, now I have to buy Dave a knife to replace the one I had him throw away earlier.  

A half hour later Dave interrupts my barrage of witty lines concerning his previous situation to inform me the TSA officer admitted they did not see the box cutter in the xray.  Since they didn’t see the box cutter, isn’t it possible everyone also missed the extra blades he might have been carrying?  Would this not present a problem with the option to remove the blade and let him keep the frame?

So, what have we all learned from Dave’s misfortune?  That’s right it’s good to be white.  While I’m not a racist this is the first instance in my life where I have actually stopped to realize how skin color provided preferential treatment.  It also made me remember that from certain angles I look like a mexican and that’s close enough for some southerners to middle eastern and had that been my cutting apparatus it’s quite possible I would sucking dick in cuba right now.