I have a daughter who says all the wrong things. Just last week, for example, she tweeted a confession to her followers: “We are a family that likes to put holes in our walls.” It’s an odd declaration, right? One that makes you wonder just what the heck is going on behind our closed doors. The truth is not nearly as mysterious as the tweet would imply. The truth is that we are in the middle of remodeling two bathrooms and the updates have necessitated the cutting of holes in the wall. We also removed the vent covers from the ceiling for painting and those, too, my daughter counts as holes. And then there was the unfortunate incident of my husband becoming entangled in an extra-long shower curtain as he tried to hang the rod. He fell to the ground in a swirl of waterproof fabric and expletives and—on his way down—his knee (or other body part, it’s hard to say) went through the drywall in the bathroom.
Admittedly, we are a family with holes in our walls, but surely you see that the truth is rather uninteresting. My 16-year-old, though, has a flair for the dramatic.
As Exhibit B I submit the following: My husband coined a term meant to tease me about my demeanor upon consuming a third glass of wine. He calls it “three glass mean.” I, on the other hand, call it, “three glass honest,” but that’s beside the point. The point is that only on very rare occasions do I actually consume three glasses of wine and when I do, the result is not an abusive drunken woman who slurs her words and walks with a limp as the title would imply. Rather, the result is a maybe overly talkative woman who takes a few liberties in pointing out things that she’d otherwise leave unsaid. In any case, the whole “three glass mean” reference was never meant to be spoken in public. It’s a term he uses in jest - one of those inside jokes that families banter back and forth with. At least it was meant to be. But when my daughter used the term at church camp one time it raised suspicions with her youth leaders and an inquiry was made as to the well-being of my daughter and her siblings. Luckily the most formidable injustices they face are being made to eat a square meal around the table each night and vacation as a family at least twice a year. Further investigation into their safety, therefore, was deemed unnecessary.
I guess I need to sit down with my daughter and gently discuss the appropriateness of what she shares. And probably it would be wise to do so before she sees this week’s dinner menu that I hastily scribbled out on a piece of scratch paper and tacked up on the fridge. Friday’s entry reads: bean & pot tacos. The word ‘pot,’ in this case, serving as an abbreviation for the word ‘potato’. There is no telling how many agencies would show up at my door were she to tweet out that little gem.