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Spooking Out Your Parents with a Random Love Idiosyncrasy – PART ONE

It's just one of those things.

Author’s Note:

When common tropes in romance flap out of books or films, I cringe. Yet this one defies it. Not because I wrote it. But it was because it reminds me of how my parents adored my love idiosyncrasies.

Genre: Drama/Comedy/Magical Realism

Here’s the scene: While they’re still trapped in the one-meter rule punishment. Mind slamming together – at once. It’s one of those things.


Moms and dads are brimmed around in the kitchen — Moms are in a meticulous pancake operation and dads are having coffee at the counter. Dylan and I encroach in to dump our dishes — one at a time — adhering to the one-meter rule — as they all observe us in a revered fashion. 

“So how’s the one-meter rule doing so far?” dad asks.

“We’re staunch about it,” Dylan and I groan a reply. Instantly, moms and dads FREEZE — even more badgered now! Their blanched reaction causes us to pause — “What?” we roar at them. 

“This is already too much for my Twitch Beau quest,” dad says. 

“And after over three decades later –” mom grumbles.

“I’ll do some research on this,” dad interrupts her.

“How many more of — these things you two have?” Mrs. Dawson asks me and Dylan. 

“What things?” Dylan and I reply in chorus. And — a breakout! Moms and dads go to pieces — facing us! “What’s going on?” my one and only LUSH and I boggle over the commotion.

“We have to do some investigation here,” Mr. Dawson snaps.

Dylan and I are about to respond, but — “Hold it!” dad interjects, flittering. “Talk — one at a time –”

“Is that supposed to be another rule?” Dylan and I pipe back.

“One at a time!” dad reechoes. 

“This is an insult,” mom booms back.

“To what?” Dylan and I bat on.

“One at a time!” dad yells. 

“Oh dear –” Mrs. Dawson croaks away.

“I’m not saying a word,” Mr. Dawson nudges. 

“Girls –” dad gasps — “ — please talk — one at a time –”

“Why?” Dylan and I shriek.

Dad turns to Mr. Dawson. “Dave, you talk!”

“I can’t even feel my pulse anymore,” Mr. Dawson replies.

“I’ll talk,” mom presides and looks at us. “Honey — sweetheart — we already know that you two belong together — but please — don’t over do it in front of us –”

“Over do what?” Dylan and I exclaim — in an innocent bash. 

“Like that!” dad snaps. “I’ve said — talk — one at a time –!” 

“I’m scared to ask anything now,” Mrs. Dawson snorts.

“And my pulse is on a cardiac arrest,” Mr. Dawson yelps. 

“You two –” Dad points at us — “– better get away from us for a while.”

Dylan and I walk away. “ARGH!!!” 

“ONE AT A TIME!!!” dad shouts after us. 


The Sacred Seven Decades

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