My Personal Afghan War

It’s been a while since I’ve posted here. You may think that I just forgot. No, no. I remember quite well that I have a site to maintain. Unfortunately, the mind has a way of short circuiting and causes me to either shut down due to laziness or plain forget.

Unlike my wife who has a ‘Go Big or Go Home’ attitude. Unlike me she just doesn’t forget she completely rewrites reality. This adorable quality of hers raised its head recently when we started fighting over a blanket.

Notice the quality craftsmanship...

While my wife and I were in bed one night she blurts out ‘I’m cold. I need another blanket.’ So I tell her to go into my closet/the guest room and pull out the afghan that my mom crocheted for me many decades ago. Happily, Angela goes into the other room and retrieved the blanket, looked at it and calmly says, ‘This isn’t yours. My Nana made it for me.’.

Let’s pause here for a second. Being a Flip the first time I ever ran into someone calling their grandma their ‘Nana’ was during my first marriage. That’s what my ex-wife called her grandma. I just thought it was a nickname specific to that old woman. Fast forward a few years (that’s right, pass the divorce and several drunken nights) to life with my current wife. I discovered she also calls her grandma ‘Nana’. So, if you have two sets of grandparents which one gets to be called Nana? Seriously, is this a white person thing?

Anyhow, back to Angela’s super power of bending reality. After she told me that it was made by her grandma I looked at her like she was nuts and said ‘Umm…no. My mom made that for me. She made one for my sister, too, but it was this gaudy pink and blue thing. My sister and I kinda fought over this one.’

Angela: ‘No, my Nana made it. Look at the colors. Look at the weird way that there’s this colorful field in the middle and on the other side it looks like mustard. Definitely, Nana.’

Me: ‘I’m pretty sure my mom made that for me. She took up all that weird crafty stuff when she was unemployed and we were kids. She’d crochet EVERYTHING. She even made us slippers. With pom-poms. That she made us wear. In public.’

Angela: ‘Nope, Nana.’

And so it went. Weeks went by and we’d argue over this thing. The dogs would sleep on it and Angela would say ‘Get off Nana’s afghan!’ and we’d go through the motions of arguing which side of the family made this thing.

One day, I refused to admit defeat and right before bed I took a picture of it with my phone and sent it via text to my sister.

Me: ‘Do you remember this afghan? Do  you still have the bright pink one mom made for you?’

Sister: ‘OMG! Are you using that?!?’

Me: ‘Hells yeah! Do you do remember it! Angela keeps trying to tell me her grandma made it.’

Sister: ‘Of course I remember it.’

I thought showing that conversation to Angela would finally make things right with the world.  She looked at it, gave me a pretty sour look and then said ‘You don’t get to use my Nana’s blanket.’, then covered herself and turned over to go to sleep.

At this point I’m nearly at my wit’s end and I started to even doubt myself.  It wasn’t until a recent family gathering that I called her out on it…in front of my mom.  After my mom confirmed that, yes, she did make it I thought that I would be able to gloat in triumph. Instead my wife decides to push my buttons knowing full well that one day she’ll drive me to have a heart attack. Later that night, after I thought all had been set right in the world, as we’re about to go to bed she says ‘Pass me Nana’s blanket.’