As part of Operation: Good Child, Fauxhawk and I drag our asses to my brother’s place for his beloved wife’s birthday lunch this weekend. We are both tired from a party the night before, it’s snowing, and there is leftover bœuf bourguignon and apple crisp in the refrigerator. Though I adore my family, there are a million things I’d rather do on this snowy Sunday afternoon than haul over to Good Child’s place for more sucking up.
I am whining. Fauxhawk, on the other hand, is pumped. He is not complaining at all about having to attend yet another stressful family function. Instead, he sees this as an opportunity - an opportunity to KICK ASS and WIN. Since I involved him in my little private game, Fauxhawk has dedicated himself with admirable focus and determination to improving our status. Fauxhawk has become the Navy Seal of Operation: Good Child.
After the lunch is over, we head back to Brooklyn and review our progress.
“Good Child was not pleased with the tarte tatin he made. And let’s be honest - it did look like sauerkraut pie.”
“Is that supposed to get us points?” I ask.
Fauxhawk looks grave. How could I ask such a stupid question?
“Possibly,” he says.
“But it tasted good! And he made it out of love, which counts for something…”
I cut myself off. “I am sympathizing with the enemy, aren’t I?”
“Yes,” he says sternly.
I look at him intently. There is a glint in his eye. The kind of glint you might see just before a soldier goes AWOL and napalms an entire village of innocent civilians.
“Listen up!” he whispers, staring me down. “And understand this. I don’t want any weaklings on my team.”
Holy Mother of God. I have created a monster.