Page 93 of Flirtasaurus
“Yeah.”
“Oh. Well, whatever. Next question. Could dinosaurs mate with different dinosaurs?”
Oh, boy.
“How do you mean?”
“Well, for instance, a tiger and a lion can do the deed and create a liger, yeah?”
“Oh, that’s ridiculous,” Mom says. “That’s not a thing.”
“No, it’s true actually, Mom. Ligers are a thing,” Mark says.
“Right?” Dad says. “They’re a thing. A zebra and a donkey can create a zonkey. A grizzly bear and a polar bear can create a grolar bear. A cow and a buffalo can create a beefalo.”
“Dad, why do you know so much about hybrid sex in the animal kingdom?” I ask.
“Well, the internet is just a gorgeous place, isn’t it? I mean, how did we boomers live without it for so many decades? OurEncyclopedia Brittanicascould only offer us so much.” He turns his attention to our guest. “I wear the boomer title proudly, Ralph. I know you young people like to use it as an insult, but if retiring early, holding eighty percent of the country’s net worth, and being part of the longest-living generation in history is insulting, well then consider my feelings hurt as hell. Hahaha!”
“Understood, Ken,” Ralph says politely.
“So anyway, I’m thinking the existence of ligers, zonkeys, grolar bears, and beefalos proves that dinos could do the deed with any other dino they’d like, and produce some pretty great offspring, yeah? I mean they were all dinosaurs after all.”
It seems my father has worked up quite a thesis statement on this subject.
“True,” I say. “Though, think about it this way. You don’t see ostriches and canaries creating… canostriches, do you? But they’re both birds. You don’t see sharks and minnows creating… shinnows. Both fish. And you don’t see capybaras and chipmunks creating… capybaramunks. But they’re both rodents. Same with dinosaurs. It’s likely that your pal Kentrosaurus could mate with a Tuojiangosaurus since they’re both a part of the Stegosauridae family, but it’s pretty ludicrous to think that an absolutely massive twelve-ton Diplodocus and a seven-pound Micropachycephalosaurus could possibly come together to create a Diplodochycephalosaurus.”
“My baby girl is so fucking smart. I don’t understand half the words that come out of her mouth, but I know whatever she’s saying is impressive.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“But wait, Callie, didn’t you say that you thought Trix and Monty could have been lovers—?”
“Ralph? Can it!” I say. I’m not proud of my reaction. But I’m also not a fan of him seeing me in this situation with my family. I’m even less of a fan of him participating in it. It feels so… exposing.
The rest of the meal continues in much the same way: my family teaming up on me, and Ralph doing his darnedest to assuage both sides. He wasn’t kidding when he said he was a great buffer. The whole experience is making me feel insanely uncomfortable, though.
We’re in the kitchen helping Mom gather the things we need for dessert—Ralph’s idea, not mine—when Mom says, “Ralph, I find it fascinating that you’re an astronomer.”
“Oh, thank you. Yeah, I really love it. Never a dull moment when you’re working to unlock 13.8 billion years of the mysteries of the universe!”
“You mean 10,000 years.”
Uh-oh.
“Excuse me?” Ralph asks my mom with a tepid smile.
“The Earth and Heavens were created by God 10,000 years ago.”
“Oh, gosh…” I can see Ralph trying to figure out whether Mom is joking or not.
I know this woman. And joking, she is not.
I decide to step in and save us all from ourselves.
I scoop up two platters of assorted cookies. “I’ll take these out to the table, Mom! Ralph, how ’bout you bring that carafe of coffee out, kay?” I don’t wait for a response from either of them and shuffle to the dining room where the rest of the family is assembled. Ralph and Mom trail me.
Ralph doesn’t take the hint, though, and continues the conversation. “Susan, the um. The universe began 13.8 billion years ago through the Big Bang.”
