My cousin Paula is working hard to save the one-room school in her town. Coming in from a protest, she tells a bunch of us she's going to be on the news that night. Her mother says, "It's too bad your hair wasn't done up pretty like it was last night." I laugh uproariously and say, "Now that's something for the blog."
When we are not outright aggressive, looking, as another aunt said yesterday, for the person to come in and say, "I don't get it," we are passive aggressive.
The Porter girls -- my mom and her three sisters -- are constantly referred to by others as being the root of the sarcasm, the harsh jokes, the smiling (yet biting) criticism, the pouncing on the weak. Did it all come from the maternal side, though? It couldn't have. My father was as brutal and blunt and quick as any Porter woman. So my sister and I, and our three brothers, got a double dose, then. And so it is without surprise that my 5-year-old son says, dripping with sarcasm, "We're going to the drugstore before the park? How ex...cit...ing." Or that my 10-year-old son's acrostic of "Mother" starts with "marvelous housekeeper" for the "M."
I joke nowadays that any potential spouses of my children will have to be checked by us for good teeth genes. I have bad teeth and gums. Pete is British. [No offense intended.] So we need to make sure that the kids marry people with good teeth genes. And I'm thinking we might want to look into any traces of the snarky gene, too. Or maybe a sharp wit isn't the worst thing to inherit.