dreadedcandiru2 (dreadedcandiru2) wrote in binky_betsy,
dreadedcandiru2
dreadedcandiru2
binky_betsy

Mira's Letter, June 2008

Well, here it is, almost another summer. Time for long days in the garden after a too-short spring. Speaking of gardening, everyone's favorite D-list author has taken to putting a vegetable garden in the backyard of his and Deanna's house. The reason is sort of touching, in an awkward way. He explained that, besides wanting my grandchildren to have a healthier diet than the textureless, flavorless slop his mother makes, his grandfather might not live to see another summer (or autumn, as far as that goes) and he wanted to show Meredith and Robin that death was a part of life. Of course, the way he was going about it would end up with them confusing aging with root-rot but he was trying in his own clunky way to be a good dad. He has a lot to make up for but he's in there pitching. If he's not lost in some cybernetic lotus-pool pretending to be Nobrain the Barbarian, he's expanding a bad short story he didn't want to write into a worse novel he not-so-secretly loathes. Sure, he told his manic loudmouth of a mother that he loved the book almost as much as the pointlessly lurid title she gave it but I think when the lousy TV movie shows up, he'll probably discover a previous commitment he just made up to avoid having to watch it. Perhaps he'll end up listening to Dee and take up teaching creative writing. If so, they should put the inevitable confrontation with the Crazy Woman on pay-per-view. It's difficult enough to explain to her that Robin's health issues are real. This is, I'm sorry to say, the same woman who can't see what's wrong with her daughter the school teacher rushing headlong into a marriage with a man she doesn't have to think about having to love. It's almost stopped bothering me that I'm thought of as an overbearing meataxe even though I grew out of that sort of either/or thinking (either marriage to the stiff or spinsterhood as if the non-entity was the only man for her) years ago. It was a sad but predictable thing that when they had that scare with him two weeks ago Dee was too afraid of her over-reaction to my presence that I had to be kept out of the loop. It's a miracle that they didn't consult She of the Flailing Limbs either; she'd prescribe leeches and a curative galvanic belt for his ills. Anyway, that, like his middle sister's upcoming wedding to the slithering jerk they're ramming down her throat, is a horror for another day. Speaking of other days, I hope to catch up with you next month.

Yours repsectfully,
Mira.
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