Page 31 of Lovebug
The three days following my epic failed introduction with The Wall and embarrassing interaction with April got only minimally better. I steered clear of the weird, fascinating fella and did my best to engage on the most professional levels with my staff, but I still can’t help feeling out of sorts in my new role at the arboretum.
“Good. As they should. I’m so proud my baby is the big boss lady this year.”
“Thanks,” I say. “But technically, Carol is the boss lady. I’m more of the… manager lady, I suppose. ”
“Well, regardless. Oh, that reminds me… I’m incensed!” His chest puffs up, and his nostrils flare. He actually puts down the newspaper this time, so it must be serious.
“What about, Dad?” I brace myself and exhale. My father is always incensed about something.
“The word is regardless, correct?” he asks.
“Ummmm. I don’t know. I’m not sure what you’re…”
“It is. The word is regardless. Yet today, I learn that theMeriam-Webster Dictionarynow recognizesirregardlessas an official word.” He clears his throat, a sure sign he’s about to launch into full speech-mode. “Just because people have been bastardizing a word for years, must we adapt to their ignorance? Lower our standards to meet the masses? Give credence to carelessness?” He shoves a forkful of Salisbury steak into his mouth. “I mean, what is this world I find myself living in? In my sixty-eight years of life, I’ve never seen suchdisregard for common sense and decency as I do today. Irregardless.” He scoffs. “Ridiculous.”
Rarely does a dinner go by that Mom and I aren’t treated to a Dad diatribe. It’s easiest for us to just smile and nod. See, he’s one of those guys whose opinions are treated as facts. In his own mind, that is. And in our home.
That’s right. I’m twenty-four-years old, and I still live at home.
I can’t pinpoint exactly why that is. I’m not rich by any means, but with my work at the museum and arboretum, I could definitely afford the rent on a small one-bedroom nearby. Maybe not in Philadelphia proper but certainly “right outside of the city” in the suburbs.
But something keeps me here.
“Wait. Dad. Did you say you are sixty-eight?”
He pauses a moment and flashes an odd look at my mother.
“No,” he huffs. “I said I was fifty-eight.”
“I’m pretty sure you said you were sixty-eight.”
“Will you pass the limas, lovebug?” Mom asks, her arms outstretched.
“Sure.” I pass Mom the old-school orange Pyrex bowl full of my favorite legumes. “Hey, Mom. Why do you always call me lovebug?”
“What kind of a question is that? I call you lovebug because you’re such a love, and you’ve always been bananas for bugs.”
“Sure, I get that,” I say. “But just in case you weren’t aware, lovebugs aren’t actually the most beloved insect out there.”
“Are any insects beloved?” Dad scoffs.
“Sure!” I pipe up. “Ladybugs, butterflies, fireflies… People go crazy for them. Lovebugs, though? Not so much. They are arguably more hated than the mosquito and considered menaces to society. Most people find them so annoying they think their name should be changed from lovebugs to hatebugs.”
“Well, that’s silly,” Mom says.
“I’m serious, though. There’s an actual petition going around on social media right now about that very thing.”
Dad snorts. “People need to get a life.”
“Well, obviously,Idon’t hate them. I find them fascinating. Get this. Lovebugs mate for hours—”
Another snort from Dad. “Then lovebugs also need to get a life!”
“Oh, that’s hogwash, Mabel. No one can mate for hours!” Mom adds with full confidence.
I don’t want to embarrass her or my dad by correcting her on that point. I mean, I can’t truthfully say I have firsthand experience with that kind of extended… romantic athleticism. But if Calliope is to be believed about the antics she and Ralph have been up to in Mexico? Then it’s totally possible.
“Well,regardless…” I sneak a peek at my dad.
