Family Ties....

About two weeks ago, Aaron and I had to make an exciting trip to the ER. 

To make a long story short, my gallbladder decided it wanted nothing to do with me now that I'm 30.  I was admitted into the hospital to have it removed. 

After the cholecystectomy  (fun word, huh?) , my entire family felt like they needed to see for themselves that I was, indeed, still in the land of the living.   

I don't remember much of the conversation we had.  I do however remember my brother coming up to my bedside, reaching for my hand  to do what all good brothers would do. Make fun out of his poor gallbladder-less sister of course.

"Monica, they are doing this all wrong, shouldn't they have you handcuffed to the bed?"

Before you think that DD runs in the family (it doesn't), I need to explain that my brother works in a prison.  He is use to transporting criminals to the hospital, where they are apparently restrained to keep from running away.

Dear readers, put yourself in my shoes (err, hospital socks).  How do you think someone in this lifestyle under my condition and known for their chronic foot-in-mouth disease would have answered?

"Handcuffs?  No, no...I would enjoy that too much."

I place all the blame on the drugs. The nurse must have given me some sort of truth serum.  

My recollection of exactly how my family reacted is a little fuzzy.  I would like to think, for dramatic's sake, that my mother clutched her pearls and  crossed herself a few dozen times.  My Dad must have fainted, and my siblings probably started some sort of disowning ritual.  It's the only ONLY way I can justify what my husband said next.

"Don't worry, Monica and I are the most vanilla couple you've ever seen.  Honest."

My family left soon after. 

Not long after they departed, I began to wonder if I had just IMAGINED the whole ordeal.  I went to Aaron for the truth.

"Honey, did I just admit to my parents that I like being restrained to the bed?"

"Yes, Yes you did, get some sleep dear."

I closed my eyes, but continued to put the pieces of conversation together in my dulled memory.

" Umm, did you use the term vanilla to describe our sex life in front of my entire family?"

"Yes, Yes I did."

"Aaron," I continued hazily. " I could be wrong, but I think the only people that use the term "vanilla" are indeed, non-vanillas.  Do you think you convinced them?"

"I don't think so Monica, as soon as I said it your mother responded with a 'Yeah Right!' "

Should I be more concerned that my mother thinks she has us pegged, or that fact that my mother knows what the term vanilla means?

Maybe it runs in the family after all.