Although it appeared my husband had read my latest blog entry, Jabba the Schmuck, without incident, it turns out that he had been stewing about it for days.
For those of you who hadn't yet read it, Jabba the Schmuck was a lovingly rendered, bulls-eye accurate depiction of the man whose seed brought forth my husband. (Ugh, the mere thought of it...)
Jeff didn't have a problem with the physical description of his father, nor the fact that the man is a loudmouthed know-it-all, or that he watches sports and shopping channels habitually, or that he buys and stockpiles the largely worthless items purchased through the latter, or that he belittles virtually everyone around him...no, none of those were of concern. The issue, it seems, has to do with the hard, cold fact of his astounding sense of entitlement, and profound lack of generosity in kind. In other words, the kind of truth that hurts.
I will return with a kinder, gentler version of Jabba the Schmuck. The first three or so paragraphs -- the descriptive stuff, with which my husband surprisingly doesn't have his panties in a twist-- will remain exactly the same.