“Super poo.” That is the name on the bottle I’m holding.
Kaper: Best I’ve ever used.
A: You wash your hair with this?
K: Oh yeah it makes my hair silky smooth, feel it. (holds out his ponytail for me to touch)
A: No thanks, I’m good. (I back away from Kaper ensuring there is a good 3 feet between us)
Now I know what you are wondering: what is Super Poo? And who in their right mind would name their child Kaper?
|Figure 1: Super Poo|
First off, “Super Poo” is the name of 2 in 1 shampoo conditioner product for horses (see Figure 1). As for the story of Kaper, I’m going to have to start back at the beginning.
So let me set the stage for you: a cute and adorable gal who never likes to leave her house ends up at an Easter dinner with a family she had never met before. Naturally, this dinner turns into a catastrophe of non-epic proportions but a catastrophe none the less. And if we had to blame anyone for this catastrophe I think we would all agree that it was Emma’s fault.
Who is Emma? Well she is one of my run peeps who happened to invite me to Easter dinner at her house and I did not have the good sense to decline but instead followed my gut, which apparently wanted to eat stupid amounts of meat products, and agreed to this indecent proposal.
Ok. Not indecent proposal like I was offered a million dollars to sleep with some previously hot but now wrinkly old rich dude. I mean indecent proposal because apparently agreeing to meet ones family on Easter means you want to sleep with said woman who invited you to dinner and how the fuck was I supposed to know that Emma was a lesbian and was interested in me?!
Ok, sure, she had brought up all the women she dated on our long runs together and she mistook my silence as active listening when really I was just reciting a Shakespearean soliloquy on repeat in my head in order to drown out her boring relationship stories.
“Oh that this too too solid flesh
would thaw and resolve itself into a dew…”
And no it is not ironic that the one soliloquy I have memorized of Shakespeare’s just happens to the lesser known Hamlet soliloquy (Act 1 Scene 2) where he kind of fixates on the idea of killing himself. Nope, not ironic at all, I would say more fitting actually. I mean have you ever listened to a lesbian complain about their relationship issues?! No, me neither.
What can I say, I just don’t like listening to people complain about relationships, I mean for fuck's sake you’re in a relationship, it’s going to suck ass, why do I need to hear about it if I’m not the one in a relationship!?
So, yes, Emma did bring up her past relationships with girls but in my defence they all had those names that could be either gender, like Robyn, Tate, and Kim. And because I believe that everyone is just some sort of inferior rendition of myself (read: because I can’t be bothered to listen to others who are not talking about me) I just assumed Emma was a vanilla hetero like me.
And to no one's shock but my own, I was wrong.
So I show up to dinner with a bottle of wine for Emma’s parents (who are this cute old French couple who don't speak a word of English and are in the first stages of dementia). And yeah, maybe wine would be something a regular normal person would bring if they were meeting their boyfriend’s parents for the first time or whatever. But let’s remember, I’m not regular or even remotely considered a “normal” person. See I bring wine to any event where people have graciously invited me into their home not realizing that by the end of the night I will have accomplished in making said night into the worst Thanksgiving dinner EVER! (I’m so sorry I did not know that giving thanks to the genocide of the aboriginals so I could eat turkey every year is considered poor form.)
Anyways, we sit down for dinner and based on previous experiences, I decide not to make witty banter about genocide and human rights abuses and things seem to go well…until they don’t.
E: Thank you so much for coming over for dinner, my parents really like you. (places her hand on my thigh)
A: Well your parents are senile so I’m pretty sure they would like anyone, so I’m not really sure that is a compliment. (stare at her hand willing it to stop touching me)
E: (laughs and leans in closer to me)
A: I’m sorry that was completely inappropriate and speaking of inappropriate (pick up Emma’s hand and put it on her lap).
Yeah it was a bit passive aggressive but I was trying to save face for Emma who was getting shot down at the dinner table in front of her whole entire family, which included extended family, like Emma’s bastard illegitimate 3rd cousin’s nephew where rumour has it is set to inherit the family fortune and he is only 11 years old. Something about an affair with a trans lumbersexual who was catering last year’s Easter dinner and who also happened to be this 3rd cousins’ brother…I’m not sure if that rumour is about Emma’s family or some story ark of Game of Thrones…apologies my French is a bit rusty.
Anyways, apparently saving face was not something Emma was too concerned about...
E: What? I thought you were into me? (kind of yells this part)
A: Nope, pretty sure I’m not. (says quietly, still thinking I can keep this interaction discrete)
E: But we’ve gone on several dates and you came over for dinner?
A: I’m sorry was I in attendance at these dates? (kind of feeling annoyed that Emma decided to be crazy before I got to eat meat products)
E: Yes! We were on one last weekend!!
A: Are you counting our long run together a date?! (wondering if Emma ever mentioned being diagnosed with some sort of mental health disease on these long runs of ours)
E: Well yeah! We went for coffee after.
A: Yes but that doesn’t make it a date.
E: It’s a date, it’s two things, a run followed by coffee.
A: That’s ridiculous! I do that all the time, are you telling me I’m going on a date every time I go for a run followed by coffee?! IF that’s the case I’m dating half of the runners in Victoria!
E: Well I was asking you on a date, so it’s a date.
A: I’m pretty sure both parties need to know they are on a date for it to be a date. (realizing Emma is fucking crazy)
E: Are you interested in someone else, I don’t know why you wouldn’t like me.
A: Are you fucking kidding me?! You're crazy and I’m not gay! (at this point I’m kind of freaking out)
E: What?! But you don’t have a boyfriend?!
A: Are you for real?! This is quite possibly the stupidest conversation I have ever had. Excuse me.
And at this point I leave the table and do the only thing I can think of doing, which is lock myself in the bathroom. Yes in times of panic, I revert back to my 6 year old self.
And that’s when I meet Kaper. He was sitting in the empty bathtub, fully clothed, playing angry birds on his iPhone when I walked in.
K: Hey (doesn’t look up from his game)
A: Ok, I don’t know who Emma is to you but that girl is fucking crazy!
K: (pauses his game and looks up at me) She is my sister and yes she is an embarrassment to us all.
So Kaper and I bond over the fucked-up-ness that is Emma. I learn that he is named after capers, the food his mother ate non-stop when she was pregnant with him, and not named after a harebrained escapade as I had guessed. And of course he shows me his Super Poo.
After about 30 minutes of me hiding out in the bathroom bonding with Kaper, he hatches a plan to help me escape without having to leave the bathroom and interact with Emma again. Basically he helped me climb out the bathroom window and passed me my stuff. Emma lived in a bungalow so the escape plan wasn’t really that exciting or difficult actually.
So even though Easter dinner with Emma was a shit show possibly because I’m too self-involved and/or too socially inept to realize that my attendance at an Easter dinner is basically the equivalent of telling a lesbian you want to settle down and get married to them, things didn’t turn out all that bad…
Fuck this silver lining shit, Easter sucked. I basically hung out in a bathroom with a guy named Kaper who washes his hair with horse shampoo. I’m pretty sure the moral of this story is don’t ever do things based solely on your desire to consume stupid amounts of meat products.