“The Fine Print”, by M.H. Schrader
A Not-so-tall Texas Tale
Have you ever noticed how vacations will
wear you out? Kind of odd, isn’t
it? I mean, here you go on a vacation
to get a little r & r, and when you get back, you need a little r & r
from your r & r?
I can’t say that I am any different. I know that when we got back from our recent
Schrader family vacation, I was pooped.
Why? It certainly wasn’t the
lack of sleep. As this was a true
vacation, we could sleep in as late as we wanted. No timelines, no restrictions.
Time was at our disposal, and we disposed of it well, thank you very
much.
But I must say, I wasn’t the only one who
was exhausted when we got back. So was
Mrs. Schrader. And all the little
Schraders.
The thing about vacations is that you are
with someone for 24 hours day. You
travel with them, eat with them, sleep with them. I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t want to be with me
twenty-four hours a day. There were
several times that I’m sure Mrs. Schrader was tempted to leave me at the side
of the road or something. “Sorry,
honey, but you really need to lock your door!”
Don’t get me wrong, however; this is not
to say that the family Schrader did not enjoy their vacation. Quite the contrary. For me, I had a captive audience, much to
Mrs. Schrader’s chagrin.
Let’s just put it this way. As she says, I tend to “embarrass her.” My sense of humor is a little bit warped at
times. The problem is that I tend to
share it with others who may not really appreciate it. Like when I asked the waitress at the
“Irish” restaurant if a little leprechaun was going to serve the “Pot of Gold
Pot Roast.” Or when I asked the camera
clerk if the Fujifilm I was paying $12 for was personally swum to the United
States. (After all, Mrs. Schrader even
agreed that $12 was a little much to pay for a roll of film, but those touristy
places can charge whatever the heck they feel like.)
Of course, sometimes I can get total
strangers to participate in my hijinks.
Mrs. Schrader, a Texan by birth, had not been back to her birth state
in, oh, about twenty-six years. I, on
the other hand, with Texas relatives for the past two decades (yes, I know,
they are displaced Yankees, but they have been in Texas long enough to be
naturalized Texans), am an old Texas pro.
At breakfast one morning, Mrs. Schrader ordered pancakes, and I kept
joking with her and with the waiter about how these are no ordinary pancakes,
but Texas pancakes, which means that they are big. Of course, Mrs. Schrader, the smart lady that she is, thought I
was full of baloney, which of course in almost every situation is the
truth. (In fact, Mrs. Schrader gets onto
me about telling daughters Jacqueline and Elizabeth tall tales and out and out
fabrications, but that’s another story.)
Unbeknownst to either of us, the waiter
and cook decided to “participate” in my joke.
The look of flabbergastedness on Mrs. Schrader’s face when she saw them
bringing her pancakes out said it all--they were indeed Texas-sized
pancakes! In fact, the pancakes were so
big, they had to be served on a platter!
Of course, the waiter had a little fun
with it. “You know, ma’am, in Texas we
make everything bigger!” (The cook
later explained that he let his batter get too thick, and that since I had
bantered with the waiter about the Texas-size pancakes, he’d go along with it,
too.)
Now I must say that I was surprised that
someone would actually take the time to bring one of my “fairy tales” to
life. I must admit, though, that the
look on Mrs. Schrader’s face, a combination of horror and disbelief, was
priceless. If only I had had a
camera. I can confidently say, however,
that the image of those gargantuan pancakes will forever be etched in my brain,
and I think it’s safe to say, Mrs. Schrader’s brain, too.
Eureka!
That’s it! That’s why we are all
so tired! It took all of our energy to
eat those Texas-size pancakes! Well,
okay, maybe not. But it sounded good,
didn’t it? Where’s a cook with a sense
of humor when you need one?