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Let me start by saying my grandfather has an incredibly dry, sarcastic sense of humor. Basically every time he greets you, it comes with a cheesy, repeated insult. Nothing malicious or over the top, though. My cousins and I are all old enough to handle it, and it is rather funny. Just for some background, his favorite line is:
“Hey, do you know what I like about you?”
Then you chuckle and wait for his next one.
However, this time was different. This time, he went for the jugular. This time he threw me in a bodybag, zipped that bag shut, wrapped that bag in chains, locked those chains to some cinder blocks, and threw me overboard.
There we were, having dinner. My family, cousins, aunts, uncles, and grandparents breaking bread in perfect harmony. Conversation was flowing over a fresh and delicious pasta dish, followed by slow-roasted ribs finished on the grill (yum). A recipe for perfection. All was going swimmingly until I was asked to grab somebody a napkin. Being that I was eating ribs and had sauce all over my hands, I handed the task down to my cousin, stating, “I can’t; my hands are gross.”
My cousin passed the napkin and all went back to normal.
That was until no less than eight seconds later, when my grandfather dropped a nuke on my head.
“Ray,” he said, with a devious pause, “your whole body is gross.”
The hair on my neck stood up as the blade of his insult just cut deeper and deeper. The dinner table erupted with laughter. The only words I could muster were, “That was just rude.” This made the laughs boom even louder, shaking the house and making the chandelier rattle and nearly come off the ceiling. I was dead.
I have to imagine the mental dilemma going on in his head that made him pause for so long between the time I said my hands were gross and the time he ended my life. He had to be thinking about the line of insulting your grandson and if he’s going to cross it. Then I imagine he laughed to himself for a second and then verbally curbstomped me.
Is there coming back from this? Where I come from, you never let nobody diss you in the streets. Also where I come from, you don’t diss your grandfather. Woof — what a dilemma.
So in the end, I took the L and sat there like a punch bitch while my family laughed at me. What can you do?.
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