Daily Archives: August 2, 2012
I think I may have mentioned a time or ten about my upbringing by alcoholic wolves.
It wasn’t nearly so much fun as you might think, but on occasion it was funny.
Case in point was my parents’ bizarre rules.
I could stay out all hours of the night when barely a teen, but I couldn’t watch any movies rated “M”…or today they’d be rated “R” for fear I might see/hear ‘something’ that would influence me.
What did you think I was doing out with older kids, parental units? Hmmm?
Well, I wasn’t…but that’s because I was a very old soul and that’s because I was being raised by alcoholic wolves. And because I wasn’t going to become like them.
Which brings me to my confluence of funny/naïve for today.
I was a teenager when the movie “Alice’s Restaurant” was all the rage. Apparently, there’s a scene about some special brownies in that R-rated movie.
I never saw the movie, so I didn’t know about the brownie scene, and so I blame the wolves for my almost being carted off to jail one night.
A bunch of my friends and I were hanging out at another friend’s house. His mom was a real-life waitress and she worked late hours, so we had free run of the place. We were actually pretty good about not breaking shit and cleaning up after ourselves.
This particular family had three boys and a girl. The oldest boy was one of my best friends. We’d known each other since the third grade when he introduced himself by punching me in the stomach when I asked him how he got that shiner over his right eye – another story that’s (sigh) not funny.
Anyway, it was besties from then on. His sister and mine were the same age, so they were besties too.
This particular night was a warm summer evening with a star-filled sky, so we dragged the radio out to the front lawn of their townhome and proceeded to crank up the tunes and sing along.
Bestie’s sister and my sister decided to clean up the house for the mom while the rest of us were outside.
They also decided to bake some brownies.
Real, Duncan-Hines boxed brownies. Nothing special about them, but it was a special treat for us and we eagerly awaited them coming out of the oven.
While we waited, bestie’s next-door neighbor got fed up with our loud music and called the police. This kind of thing happened a lot as our townhome complex had originally been intended as a retirement community.
The police arrived on scene at the same time as the brownies.
My sister had handed me the plate when the officer stepped out of his patrol car.
“What are those?” he asked.
“Brownies” I said, my mouth full of chocolatey goodness.
“What kind of brownies?”
“They’re special brownies.” I replied, shoveling the last bit in my mouth.
“Yes, very special brownies.” I said, wondering why he kept asking about them and wondering if he wanted one, I asked, “Want one?”
He grabbed the plate filled with warm goodness from my hand and proceeded to tell me I was going to jail for possession.
“Of what? Brownies?” I asked as he sniffed the remaining goodies.
“Officer, I can explain.” It was my bestie coming to my defense. “She’s never seen that movie, sir, when she says special she means that my little sister baked them for us especially.”
The officer didn’t say anything, but went around to the back of his car.
It was then I noticed the “K-9” lettering on the side.
The magnificent German Shepherd that hopped out of the back seat was all business. He placed his nose on the platter the officer set in front of him….and proceeded to scarf a brownie before the officer could stop him.
Embarrassed, the officer quickly loaded the dog into the car, told us to keep the noise down and left.
My bestie had to explain the whole brownie-thing to me and the entire gang laughed themselves to tears over my almost-arrest.
We also had to throw away the rest of the brownies, which sucked.
Well played, alcoholic wolves. Well played, indeed.