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

It's just an initial impulse.

Author’s Note:

My parents would have definitely put me through this crucial sling!

Genre: Drama/Comedy/Magical Realism

Here’s the scene: It’s just an initial impulse.


Dylan and I panic in the kitchen as we nab beers, a bottle of wine, and glasses — all set on trays — “Why are we so nervous?” she panics.

“Because we’re about to ask them!” I gasp. 

“I can’t believe we’re getting married soon after the walnut introduction.” 

“We don’t question the universe anymore.”

She checks the trays. “Beer for dads. Wine for moms.” She pauses to sigh. “Okay. Let’s go.”

“Let’s do it,” I reply, then we deliver the drinks and rest them on the patio table — as we interrupt their repartee. 

They examine our panicky maneuvers and gape at us. Dylan and I stand close to each other, swishing away sniffles. “What’s this?” dad asks. 

“We’re getting married!” Dylan and I announce at once. 

Moms and dads exchange looks — in awe! “We haven’t even established our Twitch Beau yet!” dad objects. 

“After over three decades later –” mom grumbles.

“Tonight!” dad interjects, pointing at her. “We’ll do it tonight!”

“Have you come up with our romantic things yet?” Mr. Dawson asks his delightful wife. 

“You’ve asked me about mineral oil this morning,” Mrs. Dawson responds.

“Well, is it good for face wash or not?” Mr. Dawson boffs back. 

“I’ll look into it,” Mrs. Dawson stutters. 

“It’s not!” Dylan and I answer in chorus. 

“Girls!” dad warns us, panting — “Please talk — one at a time –” 

“Let’s not add to that anymore,” mom busts in, then turns to us — “Our Twitch Beau is still in the works. You’ll have to wait.”

“That’s right!” dad yelps. 

“But –” Dylan and I protest at once —

“Talk one at a time!” dad snaps at us, then sighs — “We have to do something about this –” — to the troop — “Questions! Who wants to go first?” — back to me and my one and only LUSH — “Let’s see if you two can still outfox us!” — to Mr. Dawson — “Dave, do the interrogation first!” 

“When did you two meet?” Mr. Dawson fires up.

“March 20th!” Dylan and I answer.

“Anniversary date?” mom asks.

“March 20th!” Dylan and I yelp — without hesitation.

“Is that even conceivable?” dad whines.

“It’s clinched and claimed!” Dylan and I respond. 

— moms and dads struggle to keep their composure — “Let’s not ask about dates anymore!” dad reminds the troop. “Throw in impossible questions! Who has one?” — and growls at us — “– Let’s end this heebie-jeebie now!” 

“Name all your — things!” Mrs. Dawson challenges us.

“A-HA!!!” dad cheers at her — “Good call, Bev!” 

“If they still can do this,” mom groans, then turns to dad — “– we can’t procrastinate over our Twitch Beau anymore! And I can’t believe we even waited for something like this — after  over three decades later!” 

“Tonight!” dad grunts at mom. 

“Well –?” Mr. Dawson dares us — 

“What are your other things hidden in there?” Mrs. Dawson repeats the question. 

— Dylan and I look at each other — as moms and dads anticipate for our answer — then dad draws a winning grin across his flushed face — “We’re gonna win!” he gnashes. 

Dylan and I gasp at once, then — “Drabbles, sacred seven decades, All of Lush dances, childhood dreams and wishes, the pledge, sunrises, beach walks –” — we pause for a bit and look at each other — as moms and dads are frozen in dead silence — back to them — “Vancouver, coffee and tea, pasta and pizza, sweet and spicy, morning and night –” — we suddenly suspend our thoughts — over fast and smooth — “– do we have to say it?” we ask each other — “No!” — 

“One more thing,” I say.

Zea and Kai!” we continue — AND!!!

“I want to swear so bad!!” dad rages.

“My pulse has just run away for good!” Mr. Dawson groans. 

“My envy is about to kill me now!” mom mutters. 

“I’m afraid to ask any more questions,” Mrs. Dawson reacts. 

“So –” Dylan and I say in a casual tone —

“One at a time!” dad squeaks at us. 

“Fine,” Dylan and I sigh — obliviously —

“Girls –” dad breathes — “– one at a time –” 

Dylan and I look at each other. “You go first.” 

“THAT’S IT!!!” dad gives up — “We’ll have to come up with a new rule here!” 

“WHAT?!” Dylan and I snap at once. 

“We don’t like this!” dad roars on. “What is this? What is this called? Do you two have a name for it?” — then realizes something and flicks at the troop — “That’s a difficult one! We’ve got no name for it! No name! I haven’t gotten to the books yet, but it’s something inconceivable! –” — back to us — with a weighty frown — “So what is it called?” 

Dylan and I tilt down our heads. “Initial impulse.”

“I beg your pardon?” dad exclaims.

“Initial impulse,” Dylan and I enunciate. 

— moms and dads bounce away – BUGGED UP!!! “You two –” dad prompts us — “– get away from us for a while!” 


The Sacred Seven Decades

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