Fooler shorts: Meet the Smiths

So, I spent the weekend in the company of my parents. For the sake of the quasi-anonymity this space affords, we’ll call my parents, “The Smiths.” Let’s pretend that my mother’s name is Carole Smith, and that my father’s name is Benjamin Smith.

Here’s what you should know about the Smiths. They are the most unintentionally funny people you will ever meet. Ever. They’ve been married for about one hundred years, and it shows. It really shows.

I’ve taken the liberty of chronicling below several of our exchanges that took place over my 36 hour stint home.

Oh, one quick note that will help you navigate the convos a little better. My mother calls my father “Smith.” My father calls my mother “Carole.” I call my mother “Smith,” but to save you some confusion, I will refer to her as “Smitty,” today. I refer to my father, generally, as Ben (this has changed throughout the years—during my adolescence it was “Poppa Cash,” and “Poppa Ganoush”).


Me: “So, you know, I guess her maternity leave is going to start any day now. She’s managed her case load pretty well I think, considering how knocked up she is.”

Smitty: “Why do you keep saying that?”

Me: “Saying what?”

Smitty: “You keep saying she’s ‘knocked up.’ She’s a married woman with a child.”

Me: “So what do you want me to say she is?”

Smitty: “She’s pregnant! Sixteen year old girls get ‘knocked up.’ 35 year old married women get pregnant.”

Me: “Whatever, Smitty. You say ‘tomato,’ I say ‘knocked up.’”

Smitty: “You think you’re so funny.”

Me: “I do. I really, truly do.”


Me: “Smitty, it’s the new millennium. They don’t call it ‘porno’ anymore. It’s just ‘porn.’”

Smitty: “What difference does it make?”

Me: “A huge difference. The extra ‘o’ makes it sound so dirty.”

Smitty: “It’s porno! It IS dirty. What’s so funny?”

Me, laughing: “I said ‘The extra ‘o’ makes it sound dirty.’ ‘The extra ‘o’!’ Get it?!? ‘extra ‘o’’ !!!”

Smitty: “I don’t know whose child you are.”

Me, still laughing: “ ‘extra ‘o’’ !!!”

Daddy’s little girl:

Ben: “So, you didn’t bring anyone home.”

Me: “Nope.”

Ben: “You’ve been out a lot. No one to bring home?”

Me: “You want me to bring out everyone I’ve been ‘out’ with?”

Ben: “Why are you blushing?”

Me: “Ain’t nobody blushing, Ben.”

Ben: “Look, I didn’t ask you about your business.”

Me: “You’re trying to edge around it. You’re not gonna outsmart me, Ben.”

Ben: “You’re the one who’s blushing. I’m just saying. Your mother and I noticed that you’ve been out a lot.”

Me: “Whatever, Ben.”

Ben: “You think anyone wants to hear about your little nasty oats sowing? You think everybody’s interested in all your little DC nastiness? No one cares about your little nasty oats.”

Me: “Oh, why my oats gotta be nasty, Ben? Why my oats gotta be nasty?”

Interior Design:

Smitty: “What do you think of leather furniture?”

Me: “I generally hate it. It’s kind of a man thing, isn’t it?”

Smitty: “Yeah, I agree.”

Me: “Though I will say, I have seen a couple of leather couches of late that have been pretty nice. I don’t know that I’d buy one, though.”

Smitty: “What about accessory pieces? What about that one I bought for your father?”

Me: “Oh, I absolutely love, love, love that wingback and ottoman. That’s classic.”

Smitty: “Yeah. He’s gotten it all haggard and nasty and dirty and worn down. I swear we can’t have anything nice in this house. It seems like every nice thing I bring into this house he just tries to wear out. Do you know how much that set cost me? It’s my own fault. We just can’t have anything nice. And that’s a shame—“

Me: “Oh damn. Wow. I didn’t even see it coming this time, and you got me. Wow.”

Smitty: “See what coming?”

Me: “That wasn’t even a real question—whether I liked leather furniture. It was a setup so you bring in how much you hate dad. DAMNIT, SMITTY! Thwarted by your conniving, A-GAIN. At 29, no less. When will I learn?”

Smitty: “I don’t hate your father. I hate his nastiness.”


Smitty: “Shut up. We can’t ever have nice things.”


Smitty: “You always take his side.”


Smitty: “So are you going to go out with that guy or not?”

Me: “Dunno. On paper he kinda seems like a douche-nozzle.”

Smitty: “Being young and driving a fancy car doesn’t make you a jerk straight out, Fooler.”

Me: “Well, Smitty, I live in DC, land of the douche-nozzles, so I’ma throw a flag on that play.”

Smitty: “How about that Aaron. How’d that go?”

Me: “There’s no there, there.”

*my phone buzzes*

Smitty: “Who’s that?”

Me: “Some guy. Kevin.”

Smitty: “You gonna take that?”

Me: “Nope.”

Smitty: “So you don’t like him, either?”

Me: “Jesus. What is it with you, lately?”

Smitty: “You’re not getting any younger, you know! You’re always busy, but you don’t ever talk about liking anybody. Every time I ask you about somebody all you can tell me is how you don’t like them. It’s as if you don’t like anyone anymore. I just want to know what you do with these boys.”

Me: “Wait. You want to know what I do with boys?”

Smitty: “Oh, Lord. Stop it.”

Me: “Cause, I’ll tell you if you want. If you want to know what I do with boys.”

Smitty: “You better watch it.”

Me, rummaging through my phone: “I might even have some pictures saved up here if you want—“

*Smitty gets up and leaves the room.*

Animal husbandry:

Smitty, laying on the floor between my dogs: “You guys are going to have so much fun while you’re here. It’s so much better here than at your mom’s house.”

Me: “Please don’t start.”

Smitty, talking to the dogs: “There’s so much more room here, and a yard to play in. I don’t know why your mom insists on living in that nasty city with all of those nasty people.”

Me: “Immigrants aren’t nasty, Smitty. They’re just immigrants.”

Smitty, still talking to the dogs: “And you can run around and breathe fresh air. You don’t have to constantly smell all those crazy foods they’re cooking. Your home doesn’t have to smell like curry all the time does it? Oh no it doesn’t.”

Me: “Right. Cause they much prefer the bi-monthly waft of pig’s feet that comes from your kitchen.”

Smitty, ignoring me: “And me and your granddad keep our house nice and clean all the time. Not nasty like your mom’s house. You don’t have to worry about tripping over anything here, because we’ve got allllllllll this good, clean space.”

Me: “I can hear you, you know. I’m sitting right here, Smitty. Not like there’s this huge, soundproof shield surrounding you, or anything. Can totally hear every word you’re saying.”

The birds and the bees, plus another bee:

Me: “So, she’s alleging that he made her do all kinds of stuff. Sexual stuff, too.”

Ben: “Oh yeah? Like, kinky stuff?”

Me: “Mmm. In today’s world, I don’t know if it would necessarily qualify as ‘kinky,’ but he was definitely pushing her towards some threesome action.”

Ben: “Wow. And she wasn’t into it, but her husband made her do it?”

Me: “Well. I think she was fine if he wanted to add another chick, but he wanted other guys in the mix.”

Ben: “Other men? I can see if there was another woman but, no. No. That’s just nasty.”

Me: “You’re a man of strong convictions, Benjamin. I hope I’ve inherited that from you. I really do.”

Baked confections:

*After watching the SNL Betty White “muffin” sketch online*

Smitty to Ben: “Did you know what they were talking about the whole time?”

Ben: “Of course I did. Who wouldn’t get that?”

Me: “Smitty didn’t get it until like, three full minutes in.”

Ben, shaking head: “Come on, Carole.”

Smitty: “How was I supposed to know?! Who calls it a ‘muffin?’”

Me: “Everybody, at some time or another, I think.”

Ben: “You know, and those comedians talk about munching the muffin.”

Me, horrified: “BEN!!! I’ma need you to NEVER EVER say that again. Are you trying to kill me, Ben? Make it so I can never come back in this house???”

Ben: “I know with your nasty mouth you’re not talking.”

Smitty: “You don’t call yours a muffin, do you?”

Me: “I hardly think a conversation among the three of us about how I do or do not refer to my genitals is appropriate, do you?”


5 Responses to “Fooler shorts: Meet the Smiths”

  1. May 17, 2010 at 6:03 pm

    *dead* and gone…
    The “muffin” did me in!! Hilarious post!

  2. 2 KrispusAttix
    May 17, 2010 at 7:07 pm

    hahahah I love the back and forth between you and the ‘rents… Classic!

  3. 3 Angela
    May 17, 2010 at 8:44 pm

    I think by far this is the funniest post I have read. I love this! I love them all…hahaha….keeps me laughing..makes my day even…I am sure that anyone listening while i was reading or walking by was curious, because I was really LMAO…literally!

  4. 4 D
    May 19, 2010 at 5:02 am

    I ’bout dookied…your blog is even funnier after drinking…

  5. 5 Naija
    August 22, 2012 at 3:43 pm

    “Me: “Wait. You want to know what I do with boys?”

    Smitty: “Oh, Lord. Stop it.”

    Me: “Cause, I’ll tell you if you want. If you want to know what I do with boys.”

    Smitty: “You better watch it.”

    Me, rummaging through my phone: “I might even have some pictures saved up here if you want—“

    *Smitty gets up and leaves the room.*”

    lmao. You know you’re a terrorist, right? A downright bloody terrorist.

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a history of my meanderings….


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