The Pearl Inside of Anything

Sunday, July 4th, 4:15 p.m.

There is no better way to come crashing back down to earth and into the dullness of summer holidays than to go grocery shopping with my family. It's a team sport. Dad, as the tallest in our family, is here to do the reaching. "Up, Gord! They always put the bargains where you can't reach them," Mum reminds him every week. We all shuffle obediently behind her, pushing the cart while she orders fans out her coupons and flicks them into order by aisle.

"You know Wen, your mother and I, we've been thinking," says Dad, in between reaches. "This hair modelling thing..."

"Forget about it, Dad. It's over."

"Well, we thought, you were, uh, really good. We were really proud of you. Up there on that stage, with that thingamajig on your head."

"That's right, honey, you were great!" says Mum, stopping in front of a pillar of canned soup and pointing up. "It could be a nice hobby for you, helping that fellow Tommy out now and then, so long as it doesn't interfere with school."

"I don't think so, Mum. He wanted to win."

"Well honey, look at the bright side," says Dad. "Texas is scorching hot in the summer. You could fry an egg on a sidewalk there in a minute flat."

I am not sure how he knows this; my parents have never been anywhere further than a tank of gas can take them. "And at least you won't miss the family camping trip!" he says with a grunt as he lifts Patrick to reach the cheap chicken noodle on the top shelf.

"Right, Dad. Thanks for reminding me."

"We've got to get things together though, your mother only gets the last week of July off."

"The last week? But that's the wedding! I can't miss Chuck and Di's wedding!" All of a sudden the Royal Wedding sleepover has become my great hope. I should've been paying more attention to the details Yammy's been firing at me. Stress the educational experience. The historical significance and all that.

"Chuck? Di?" Dad asks, puzzled. "Lorna? Do we know these people?"

"No, Gord, the Royal Wedding, Charles and Diana, it's the end of July."

"Were we invited?"

"Daaaaaaad! Of course not!"

"What's the problem then?"

"I can't miss it! Yammy's having a sleepover so we can watch it on her big TV, it starts at five in the morning. It's all planned! The Rumbergers are coming; I promised I'd be there. I've been looking forward to it for like ages."

"Lorna?"

"I can't think about camping right now, we'll pick this up later." Mum has found an in-store special on chickpeas that is not in her coupon stack. I know her, this requires a concentrated decision: plan vs. opportunity. Opportunity wins, and she adds a can to the cart. Patrick makes a blechy face—we both hate chickpeas.

As if losing out on a trip to Texas weren't bad enough.

Monday, July 5, 10 a.m. telephone consultation with Yammy re: family camping trip

"Just tell them it's high time they had a holiday," says Yammy. "A second honeymoon. A little time to themselves. Make it all about what you want to do for them. Parents love that. And you can bring Patrick here for the sleepover, I don't mind."

"I don't know; they've never left us home alone overnight before, let alone a week."

"Listen," says Yammy, getting exasperated. "You've still got time to make your case. Work in your key points a little at a time. Something will twig. You can't miss the wedding!"

"Can't you just tape it for me?"

"No! Are you kidding? You don't even have a VCR."

"I could watch it at your place."

"It's not the same! You have to see it LIVE with the rest of us. Listen, stress the personal growth piece. How they wouldn't want to stunt your development. Appeal to their inner anxiety for wanting to be good parents, that always works."

"Uh, actually, I don't think they worry that much about it."

"Well, try something! Geez, Louise."

"Okay," I sigh.

"De Do Do Do, De Da Da Da is all I've got to say to you..."

"Well, that's really helpful," I snort.

"Just try. It'll all be fine. You'll see."