Monthly Archives: September 2010


I kind of like my name

I was supposed to be a boy.  Before I was born my mom was sure I was a boy.  I would have been named Billy, ick.  Claudette called me Billy when I was brought home from the hospital.  I don’t know how long that went on but that’s how sure my mom was that I was a boy. My dad adores my mom.  I am the 4th child and the 3rd daughter.  My dad wanted to name each of  his daughters after my mom and my mom wouldn’t hear of it.  I can pick apart all 3 of my older siblings names, 1st and middle and tell you who they were named after.   By the time I was having children my mom told me “name them what you want, you just can’t please everyone and someone’s going to feel left out no matter what you do”.  She must have realized that after her 3rd one because I was going to be Billy.  We have no relatives named Bill or William so apparently my mom liked the name.

Before my mom was sure I was a boy and my parents were kicking around baby names of both sexes, my mom kind of liked the name April.  That wouldn’t have been awful.  My dad thought the name April Austin sounded a little too showy.  My mom kind of liked the name Paulette.  That would have been horrible beyond belief.   Growing up, when my sisters and I were introduced as Claudette, Bernadette and Jacque, one out of every 10 people thought they were original in telling me that my name should have been Jackette (as in jacket).  Now amusing as that isn’t the 1st time one hears that, it gets less and less amusing the following thousand times. I cannot even begin to imagine the variety of horrible jokes out there that would fit in if we 3 had been Claudette, Bernadette and Paulette.  I would always have wondered if maybe we were all just smaller versions of ourselves like a kitchenette or a dinette, and if we are should we not strive to do things?  Apparently we’re not the real model.  Let me make this clear, I do not, do NOT, think of my sisters as smaller models of themselves.  However, if all 3 of us were “ettes” that would have pushed me over the edge leading to that wonder.  My dad didn’t like the name Paulette. I love my dad.

I was due to be born on a leap year on March 2nd.  Had I been 2 days early instead of 2 days late my birthday would have been February 29th.  I’d still only be 7 years old.  As much as I may act that way sometimes, I’m not.  When I was young I thought that Feb. 29th would have made a pretty cool birthday.  As I’ve gotten older  I think it would make me feel like a misplaced person.  Depending on the time of day one was born on the 29th,  they’d either have to borrow the 28th or the 1st as their birthday.  Neither one would really be their birthday.  There they are, having to borrow someone else’s birthday and only getting one of their own every 4 years.  I know, who else would  wonder about these things except for me so back to the subject.

I was born in the afternoon on March 4th and guess what mom… I am not a boy.  I imagine my mom was more exhausted, than surprised that I wasn’t a boy, and my parents had never reached an agreement for a girl’s name. So when my dad suggested I should be  named after her she,  just went with it.  I have no idea what the term was in that day and age that they used for our “whatever” but I can so see my mom doing the wave of the hand in the air thing and saying “whatever”.   I also have no idea if she ever felt regret for that “whatever” after she’d had a chance to sleep some.

So there it is.  My mom is Jacqueline Ann Austin and I am too.  Seconds are only for males that are rich or redneck.  Females are never listed as “the 2nd”, ie: Jacqueline Ann Austin II.  Females are also never, ever juniors. My mom tried really hard to make me different (like I need help there) so we’d never, throughout our lives,  be mistaken for each other.   So, right, that didn’t quite work but she tried.  The 1st thing she did was spell my name differently.  She’s Jackie, I’m Jacque.  They sound the same but are different on paper.  The second thing she tried didn’t work out as successfully, she added the Ann.  I was called (one word here) Jacqueann.  That does sound different and if it had caught on and continued it could have worked.  When I look through my baby book, everything through 1/2 of my year being 3 is written as “Jacqueann did this” or “Jacqueann” did that”.  After 3 & a 1/2 I was just referred to as Jacque.

I suspect I know why.  My grandfather always told me stories of things I did when I was very young.  He told me about Easter Sunday when I was all decked out for church and was sent outside to play until we left and I hopped in the little kiddie pool.  He told me about me climbing up the lattice on the side of the porch.  Although, I can’t imagine someone not climbing the lattice, any little kid will tell you that that is what the lattice is there for. Most importantly, he told me about the one time that he had to spank me.  Fuzzy recollection but it had something to do with him almost running me over with his pick up truck when I was around 3 and a 1/2. I hadn’t listened or whatever and I guess he almost ran me over.  Apparently it scared the daylights out of him and he got out of his truck and put me over his knee and spanked me.  He told me it broke his heart when after being spanked,I looked up at him with tears in my big baby blues and said “I wuv you gwampa”.   It was also that moment when he decided that I was the single most backwards child that he had ever met.  Then he changed my name.  I was apparently backwards so that’s what he did to my name.  No longer Jacqueann, he changed it to Anniejac. I can only guess that my mom hated it and that’s where she dropped the Ann part, trying to get rid of the whole Anniejac thing.   I should ask her, never have, but the timing fits.  Incidentally,  in Missouri, the Anniejac did stick.

As a teenager, when I was extremely social and I got lots of phone calls, whoever answered the phone would ask “which one?”   That stumped more than a few people.  Pretty much all of their responses were the same, no matter which spelling, they sounded the same even if one includes the last name.  Once Jackie Austin or Jacque Austin was stated, the person who answered the phone would the ask “the young one or the old one?”  I cannot tell you how much my mom appreciated that in her 40’s. Okay, pretty much not at all.   I finally taught my friends to say “the one the “Q”.

Throughout the years 98 out of 100 people who see my written name (as Jacque, not Jacqueline) and have had  to say it out loud have failed.  I’m not even going to go into all the names I’ve been referred to as, use your imagination and know that there are so many more.  That part sucks a little but being unique makes up for it.  The Jacqueline part came in handy when telemarketers called, as they did frequently in the 90’s.  Anyone who asked for Jacqueline, apparently didn’t know me so I was always either not home or had moved.

The 1st time Rob and I married I did the stupid thing,  I took his last name.  Honestly, the night I met Rob and he told me his name was Rob Garber my response was “really?”  It just sounded like a weird name.  We got married over a trimester break and I had added a class to my school schedule and on the 1st day of class I  had to,  out loud, in front of the entire class tell the professor  what my name was because I wasn’t on his list.  I couldn’t do it.   A friend of mine was sitting next to me in that class and we both started laughing because  I just  couldn’t say that with a straight face.  I honestly can’t tell you which one of us ended up giving the professor the answer he was looking for and I ended up dropping the class anyway so it was pointless outside of it being the 1st time I had to publically announce this new name as being me.  Not so good.

I still think Garber is kind of strange, not as strange as my initial reaction but kind of strange.  Never the less it’s pretty easy to pronounce, right?  It doesn’t look like anything that it doesn’t sound like.  Simple and to the point.  If  one pronounces the letters one will be able to properly say the name.  One would think.   That didn’t happen a lot.  Grayber, Grabber, Gerber I got frequently. I learned to say “Garber, like barber but with a G”.  Nope, I had people telling me that they couldn’t find me or whichever child and I’d ask what they were looking under and they’d tell me the K’s or the B’s or the P’s.  Yeah, I know, I don’t get it either.   Bad enough no one gets your 1st name right, when a last name is added that no one can seem to get right either, it pretty much sucks.

Being a single mom of elementary school age children was a bit of a challenge.  Having a last name that was different from my children led everyone to believe that I had re-married and had taken the last name of the step-dad.  I know, ef that.  The teachers usually looked at me sideways when I informed them they were incorrect.  The other moms were always very welcoming and polite and nice…until they found out that I wasn’t married.  The picture I was shown was that any woman, in her 30’s who wasn’t married but HAD been married  is a direct threat to everyone’s marriage .  Are you kidding me?   It was always at the point of me telling people that I wasn’t married and that Austin is my real name (hate the term “maiden name”)  that the women would never allow their husbands to talk to me and in spite of that,  the husbands would  all start telling me that they went to the YMCA  every  morning at 6 and after running a zillion miles they would do this and this and this.  Again, are you kidding me?  I can only surmise that there are there are a lot of unhappy marriages out there if women are that immediately protective of their mate and men immediately need to show themselves as being very manly to any mate-less female.  I can’t even begin to imagine the “happy” homes the children were raised in.   Seriously people, if you are not happy…GET OUT.

It was written in my divorce papers that I would once again be legally me. I was ecstatic to get my real name back and vowed to never stray from it again.  I appreciate being a little unique, thanks mom for that.  I like that my last name is simple and although I get a few people trying to look me up under the O’s (I know really? )  it appears that Austin is an easier name to locate/pronounce/spell/whatever than Garber.  I was born with my name, I will die with my name and I kind of like it.


I hated my husband when I met him 3

No big surprise there, I’ve always told everyone that and Rob will back me on it.

I met him within my 1st few months in college.  I didn’t know many people yet and I went to a bar with friends who ran into friends and apparently Rob was a friend of my friend’s, friends.  He completely struck me as an ass. We all ended up at the friend’s, friend’s house for a party and I eventually reached my alcohol limit and wanted to go home.  I didn’t see the people I’d come with and overheard Rob stating he was leaving and yeah, dumb, drunk college student…a friend of friends of friends, I asked him if he’d take me home.    Naive much?   I would completely lecture either of my daughters if I ever found out that they had done that, provided they’d made it home safely.

So, while I had meant MY home, Rob took me to HIS home.  Not good.  Rob lived about 6 miles out of town and I had no idea which direction out of town.  Had I walked, I have no idea where I’d have ended up.  No amount of arguing was going to get me back to the dorm and I had no money for a taxi and wouldn’t even have known where to tell them to pick me up. If I’d known more people in that town at that time, I wouldn’t have been able to tell them where to pick me up either.  Hindsight is always best I most probably should have dialed 911 but this naive girl from the suburbs didn’t think Rob was at all threatening, just a jerk and after I’d realized I’d lost the argument on me going to my home I walked into his nasty trailer house and went to sleep on the couch.

The next morning I woke up on Rob’s couch.  I peered over the couch and saw this strange,  jerk-boy sleeping on the floor, next to the couch in a sleeping bag.  Really?  Are you kidding me?   This is your nasty trailer which means you have a bedroom here and you are sleeping on the floor, next to the couch, in a sleeping bag?  I hadn’t been nice to Rob,  gave him no hint of anything that may have spelled  you-might- have-a-chance and he was sleeping on the floor instead of his bed.  What?  In case I disappeared during the night?  What the hell is this?  This only added to my dislike of Rob.  As I peered over the couch at this strange little man in the sleeping bag, that I had a real dislike for (well, right…who wouldn’t?) the thoughts came to me that a.) I did NOT want to wake him up and b.) I had to find the bathroom.   As much as I carefully tried to step over him…I stepped right on Rob trying to get off the couch to find the bathroom.

So there we are, both awake.   Crap and which way is the bathroom?  No, no…didn’t mean to use the the word “crap” and “bathroom” in the same sentence.  That wasn’t what I had to use the bathroom for.  After using the bathroom I asked him to take me home.  It was morning.  I did not get home until 3 that afternoon. Rob spent the day doing a number of stupid things that just made it take longer and longer to get me home.  Again, I would have walked but which direction would have gone in?  My room mate had made inquiring phone calls to find out what had happened to me and she was about to call the police herself.

After I finally got back to to the dorms, I was carrying a giant hatred for this weird Rob guy.  That’s where it stayed.  I hated him.  To me he was a disgusting little man with a giant ego.  Actually, it was reality that he was a disgusting little man with a huge ego.  Oh wait, that was my reality, not Rob’s.  Rob’s reality was that he really didn’t know who he was and so he created this huge, slimy persona that he did his best to believe and live up to it.  So there we stayed for a long time.

Rob and I would run into each other, now and again, via our social circles and I would do my best to avoid him.  He would  call me and ask me out and I would tell him “not if I were dead”.   My girlfriend would call me from the bar and say “come on down, free beer, Rob’s buying” and I would tell her to consider the source, and I’d stay home.  He was repulsive to me.  That’s how the rest of my 1st year of college played out as far as Rob was concerned.

Second year at school, nothing had changed as far as my strongly disliking Rob.  What was different on the home front was that my best girlfriend was getting married and I was maid of honor.  I was going to fly home to go to my friend’s rehearsal and wedding two days following.  With all the jokes about kids coming home school with dirty laundry, I made sure I never, ever did that.  It’s 3 am, I’m still up doing laundry, my plane leaves at 10 something and there’s a knock at my door.  It was Rob working university security making sure I was okay.  Really?  Why wouldn’t I be?  That particular  night/morning  I was pulling my hair out still trying to pack and trying  to figure out how to talk my fiend out of marrying this guy, I’d been awake forever, was tired and crabby and when Rob said his bar opened at 5am I told him to pick me up.  He did.

I drove myself however because I had to drive myself to the airport later.  We drank Jack Daniels on ice, ew, but that was the mood I was in.  The sun came up and hey, when that happens, bars open…we drove my car into town to Keg and Cork and (no idea what inspired us, except alcohol,  to do this) we ordered a pitcher of Combat.  It was pushing 10am and at that point I called my mom to let her know that I’d catch the next plane.  So we drank a pitcher of Combat, it’s claim to fame was that no one came back from Combat alive. I know that all the clear forms of alcohol were in there, but I don’t remember what else was put into Combat.  By the time the pitcher was finished we were of course toast.  Great idea, hey we should eat something.  We went to Renaud’s.  We ordered lunch and a very unnecessary bottle of Cold Duck.  Right, just shoot me.  It’s afternoon now and I called my mom to tell her that I’d take the next morning plane.  I was toasted, ya think?   Um, kinda of got the riot act lecture from my mom on how I really NEEDED to be there tonight and kind of an I’d better get my ass on that plane.  That’s how it came to be that Rob had my car.  I asked him if he would take me to the airport and drive my car back to the dorm, he agreed.  He agreed, but he didn’t do it.

I took that last flight. Long night, slept in the next day at home in my own bed.  The following day, 2pm, still sleeping, I woke up hearing the phone ringing.  I answered it and it was my dad calling from work, asking me if I had known a guy named Rob Garber.  Had, not do I know, but had I known a guy named Rob Garber. Had known.  Okay, does that mean he’s dead?  I really didn’t care to ask my dad what he meant by his wording.  I was completely baffled on why my dad would ask me that or how he would ever had heard that name.  I admitted that I did know the jerk with that name and asked my dad why he was asking me that question.  I was then informed that Rob had driven my car the previous night and smacked it  into a tree.  Okay, I’m waiting to hear that he’s dead based on the way my dad posed the question.   Nah, Rob wasn’t dead, he wasn’t even injured.  My car however, was toast.

One of those very many times when I didn’t have car insurance.  Not good.  Rob had told my dad that he would reimburse me for the car, however, if things went poorly and we had to go to court…in my mind I would lose because I didn’t have insurance.  He wouldn’t be obligated.  Oh ef.  Here we go.  I had to be nice to him until he payed me for my car.  Or at least civil.  Yuck, ick, oh crap, this is really going to suck…really…a lot!  If you’ve ever forced yourself to do something that you sincerely didn’t want to do but found that it was in your best interest to do so…that’s where I was.

New chapter.  I have to be nice.  I still wouldn’t go out with him, I didn’t have to be that nice and I certainly didn’t want to lead him on, I just had to be civil, right?  Not mean, right?  So I still wouldn’t go out with him but when I said no I wouldn’t add that I’d rather be dead  I would say something like: but if you want to come over and play backgammon after class tomorrow instead, fine.  We must have done that more than a few times because we’d bet six packs of Mickey’s on who would win and I think we both won once or twice.  I also remember feeling free to call on him if I had no other way (and I do mean NO other way, exhausted resources and still no ride ) to get somewhere, with the catch phrase  “since I no longer have a car”.   Spending time with him I began to notice something a little bit.  Rob’s words and actions didn’t add up.  With his words he was spewing the I’m-God’s-gift-to-women crap, but his actions were pretty much along the lines of a nice guy.  He never bragged about doing anything nice, never.  I’d have never bought it if he had bragged.  I just noticed more and more.

Spring break, Rob was taking me to the airport so I could go home.  My birthday fell over spring break.  He informed me that where my parents lived  was kind of right in between where his mom lived and where his dad lived, he had to travel from one to the other “what if I stopped by and took you out for your birthday?”   I informed him immediately that I already had plans and then I immediately felt bad for being that abrupt.  Wouldn’t have months earlier but apparently he was becoming human to me.  I then offered that he could join us if he wished.  He wished.  My parents living in between his parents meant that each of his parents lived around 90 miles away from my parents.  That means he was spending the night.  Fine, enough people had moved out of my parents by that time that they had an extra room or two.  Since he was spending the night, I had him drive me too, I had no car.  He picked me up right after my family birthday party so everyone was there and there’s all the introductions, mom, dad, sister, brother-in-law, other sister, brother, niece, nephew, other brother, blah, blah, blah and then we left.  We weren’t 2 steps outside the front door when Rob said “wow, I haven’t been in a family environment in a really long time”.  He said it like it was a good thing, so that was a head scratcher.  Outside of that the only thing I remember about that evening was that there was an upstairs bar and a downstairs disco at the place we went to.  There was also a slide one could take to get from upstairs to downstairs.  Of course I did the I-will-if-you-do thing so Rob took the slide down and I ran to the stairs and met him down there.  I know, don’t trust me.  Dad’s daughter and all.  Nothing changed that night.  No birthday kiss, no nothing.  Being civil and a little bit nice because he may, after all be human.

Back at school, awakened from a nightmare that told me that Rob and I would end up together.  Night terrors, I know!  Shuddered, tried to shake it off and eventually went back to sleep.  I guess I hadn’t shaken it off as much as I’d have liked to because a week or 2 later Rob and I were at the same party and I asked him “why do I have this awful feeling that somehow, sooner or later, you and I are going to end up together?”  His response was “it’s about time you figured it out, I was going to give  you till blah, blah, blah”  yeah, don’t remember what the blah, blah blah was I only know that I responded with “fine, can we make it later?  will you ask Mike if he’ll take me home?”   I got a ride home from Mike that night.

If one didn’t attend BSU one may have no idea what a Mad Dog is.  It’s a party at the train trestle where everyone brings their own bottle of Mad Dog 2020, gives homage to the gods of the Mad Dog and proceeds to drink their bottle.  It always hit me kind of like fire water.  It’s still winter in Bemidji, there’s still a lot of snow, it’s pretty cold and we are all out at the trestle drinking Mad Dog in the middle of a Saturday afternoon.  I don’t remember who I’d gone to the Mad Dog with but I do remember who I left with.  We were all out freezing our asses off  and drinking this nasty stuff when word spread that the police were busting it.  It was public property so this was against the law.  Rob must have been standing near me when the word spread because he grabbed my hand and we started running.  We ran for a while and came across my friend, Jim, who was passed out in a snowbank.  Stopped, picked him up, carried him to Rob’s car, took him home and carried him to his bed.  I ran into Jim a few days later he let me know he had no idea how he’d gotten home from the Mad Dog.  I never told him.  Anyway, once again Rob took me to his home instead of mine.  This time when I walked into his nasty trailer house I wasn’t that much upset.  Sappy part here, I looked into Rob’s eyes and I did see a human there.  Someone who was there for other people and helped other people had feelings and I finally saw through that awful, awful, persona he tried to put out to the world.  I know, could have been much sappier but I really hate romance stories.  I accepted my fate and we played kissy-face and pretty much passed out.  Com’on, we’d been at a Mad Dog!


My favorite practical joke 3

was back in the day when I worked at the instant restaurant w/brother bear, who for this story will only be referred to as  Robert because there’s another Bob in the story.  Bob was the target of this practical joke.

Bob was one of the new hires to get the restaurant back on it’s feet.  I just knew that I went to work one day and there was a very large man behind the cook line.  He was quiet at first but he leered a lot.  One of those people that makes your skin crawl a little bit. Once Bob did start talking he pretty much didn’t have much to say that wasn’t lewd.  He remains to this day the only person I’ve ever sprayed beer at.  You know, when you take your own bottle of beer, put your thumb over the opening, shake it up and aim it at someone before you take your thumb away.  I’m not much of a Bob fan.

When Bob started working at the restaurant, his brother Doug started hanging out at the bar.  As much as I’m not fond of Bob, I adore Doug.  Night and day these two.  Eventually Doug came on board as our janitor, as his 2nd job. Doug is an amazing people person, he’s very funny and he’s a nice guy.  Doug is one of the few people I’ve met that would actually give you the shirt off his back.  Way back when I left my husband, he was the only one of my friends who asked me “what can I do for you?”  He offered his home to my children and myself.  Didn’t take him up on it but nice to have the offer.  I have plenty of Doug stories but this is about the practical joke.

Bob is not just lewd, he’s also suspicious.  I would also guess that he’s maybe a bit jealous of his younger brother because Doug is a people person.  Everyone liked Doug and just put up with Bob.  Bob knew I didn’t like him and knew that I appreciated his brother.  I can only guess that in his mind the only reason I would ever befriend  Doug would be if I was sleeping with Doug.   Right, that’s Bob.  Anyway, I decided to feed that thought.  I shared my idea with my husband, brother, friends, co-workers, the bar regulars, EVERYONE.  Involve that many people and you end up with great ideas when everyone  not only adds their input but they also put their heads together to come up with even better ideas.   Lots of ideas started forming.  We carried them all out.

There were only two restrooms in the restaurant, one male, one female.  No separate bathrooms for the employees.  From the cook’s line Bob would have to walk through the bar to get to the restroom.  We always had someone give us a head’s up when Bob was coming out.   I would drop everything to make sure I was rapt in deep conversation with Doug whenever Bob walked by.  Bob started using the restroom more and more often, just to spy.  We had the bar regulars telling Bob  “yeah, I saw Doug and Jacque  checking into such and such hotel today, what’s up with that?”  I bought lingerie,  took the tags off, put them in a bag and sent them home with Doug for Bob to find.  Bob fell for all of it.  Rob had a real job but still would bar tend on Friday nights.  To add fuel to the fire, one Friday night while Rob was working and I wasn’t, I got a baby sitter and Doug and I went out, very advertised, to dinner and then to a bar to hear a band.  Guess who showed up at the bar when he got off from work.  Right,  Bob.  I saw Bob before he saw Doug and I and  very quickly dragged Doug out to the dance floor before Bob spotted us so we could be “caught”  slow dancing.

All of us, except Bob, had a great time for the next few months. With that many people involved and that much time passing, we had him hook, line and sinker.  There was no doubt in Bob’s mind that Doug and I were having an affair.   As all good things must come to an end, this did too.  At the time Bob and Doug shared a residence, it was Doug’s residence but Bob lived there.  One Saturday night after work we all went over to Doug’s house.  This was going to be the night.  I need to share that Bob is one of the laziest people I’ve ever met and that of course this was another set up.  Bob was the last to get off work, except for Robert and everyone had fed Bob stories about a showdown between Rob and Doug going on that night at Doug’s house.  All the bar regulars came to Doug’s that night but before they came, they offered Bob a ride.  Mr.-it-takes-too-much-effort-to-lift-a-finger-for-any-reason chose to walk home.  That’s at least 5 miles.  Bob would only walk that distance if he thought he would be avoiding anything that may be unpleasant.

As stated, Robert was the only only one to get off from work after Bob.  Robert got there and was surprised to see no Bob.  Once informed that Bob had chosen to walk, Robert went off, found him and brought him back to Doug’s house.  When Bob walked into the house,  sitting on the couch, in order, were Rob, me and Doug and we were all looking at him. This wasn’t what Bob had expected to come home to.  Doug’s kind of big and Rob is kind of on the smaller side and I think Bob was maybe expecting to come home to a homicide  and there we were, all sitting side by side on the couch.   Bob wasn’t speechless much, he always had something to say.  This night, however, he was speechless.  Leave it to me to start laughing.  At that point everyone, everyone, the co-workers, the bar regulars, the friends, everyone then started telling Bob of their part in this sting.  It was fabulous, that’s all I can say.  It was a moment to relish.   One had to be in on it to fully appreciate it.  Bob, of course, started going off about how he was going to “get “each and every one of us, payback, etc, etc, empty threats.

One would think it would end there.  As much as we laughed it up that evening and listened to Bob’s empty threats we figured it was a done deal.  Not one of us watched our backs, no matter how much Bob spouted we knew there would be no recourse.  So anyway, life happens and within the next few months our restaurant closed but half of us would still do the instant restaurant thing once a week at a different restaurant that was associated with ours which had closed  but was actually trying to reopen and stay afloat.  Bob was one of us who would travel once a week to the northern suburbs of Minneapolis to pull this off.  Like I said, it had been a few months since we ended the joke.  By that  point I had discovered and shared with the world that I was pregnant (with Samantha).   As it turns out, Bob was still suspicious.  Doing my best to keep him at arms length, he would occasionally, from across the cook’s line ask me a question regarding my baby and his brother.  My response was always to just give him a sly smile and leave the alley.   That was fun for a while.  That went on for about a month of us working together once a week.  However, one day Bob cornered me, literally, cornered me, and he said to me “Jacque, I’ve just got to know…who’s baby is this….Rob’s or Doug’s?”   That’s were I failed.  Face to face with Bob, and counting the fact that I was cornered by a sumo-wrestler, and I mean that, Bob and Doug are half Japanese and Bob was shaped like a very out of shape sumo-wrestler.  He was big, I was little, I was cornered so  I was honest and finally told him ” I have never slept with your brother”.

So again, that too should have been the end of it.  I was honest, I fessed up, that’s it, finito.  One would think so but, nah, not quite yet.  Samantha was born on Halloween in 1989 in the a.m.  I wasn’t the only one who had a busy day.   When Rob finally left the hospital late that night he stopped at the local watering hole where he saw Robert, Doug and Bob.  Rob walked up behind Doug, wrapped his arm around Doug’s neck, got him in a choke hold and very  loudly demanded to know why his baby had dark hair and slanty eyes.  Bob…Bob made a bee line for the door.

Samantha will be 21 this Halloween.  She obviously has no Japanese genes in her but I still think that Bob secretly wonders if she is his niece.  Apparently some jokes can go on forever.