Rapscallion Rants with S.N. Mornington

I have discovered recently that several of my relatives are allergic to bees. This is also one of many in the motley crew of shitty genes I have inherited. Once, when I was around ten years old, my dad collapsed in the front yard. He thought he was having a heart attack. I remember my mother debating out loud whether or not she should take me with them to the hospital, afraid that I would watch him die on the way. In the end, I went, and my dad was breathing close to normal by the time we got to the hospital. It wasn’t a heart attack. Instead, it was an anaphylaxis due to being stung by ground wasps, which he had mowed over. He had no idea he was allergic.

One of my maternal aunts is also allergic to bees. Because insurance in this country is nothing but a racket, it’s very expensive for her to get an Epi-Pen. Luckily, I have great insurance, and Epi-Pens come in a pack of two. So, I left one of them for my mom to pick up for her while I was at work. My Aunt is incredibly generous. When I urgently flew home several years ago after I found out my mom had a brain aneurysm, my aunt met me to just give me a “hug”, during which she slipped an envelope of money into my coat pocket, and she wasn’t the only one. I’ll never forget it.

Later, after I got home from work, I received this text from my mom, which has my parents’ grocery list at the top, as my dad humorously sent it to me by accident.

This text from my mom made me laugh out loud. Oh, so we are trading now. – A life-saving medication for something that could shoot your eye out, just ask Ralphie. -Sounds like a fair trade.

Now, please understand that I do not enjoy shooting things. I never even owned a gun until two years ago. I had come home from a 3-day stay at the hospital because my kidneys were so inflamed that the toxins in my blood were becoming dangerously high. I had no infection, not even in the culture that they sent off. They just swelled up and stopped functioning properly. And lucky me, as usual, no one had a fucking clue as to why this happened. I just remember I was so sick that I couldn’t stay awake. When my mom came to visit me on the first day, she said my pallor was gray. When I came home from the hospital my dad showed me a handgun he thought would work well for me. He had been saving this one for me. He said, “You are under a lot of stress. You need to come home and shoot. It will help you relieve stress.” I didn’t argue. It was very sweet and cute.