It’s just another Sunday in May to some people

May 12, 2008

So I’m in the local liquor store replenishing my stockpile when I see Samurai Cathy in one of the aisles, trying to decide on what brand of sake to purchase.

“Hi Samurai Cathy,” I say. “They let you bring your sword in here?”

“I don’t see why they wouldn’t,” says Samurai Cathy. “It’s not like I’m drinking in the store.”

“True, true,” I say. “So how did you spend Mothers’ Day?”

Samurai Cathy’s face becomes grim. “My parents have been dead for a while.”

“Ooh… awkward…” I say. “Did Ninja Vicki kill them? Is that’s why you hate her?”

“No, no, they died in a freak boating accident,” says Samurai Cathy. “If Victoria had killed them, she’d be reminding me of that on an hourly basis.”

“If they had died on Lake Victoria, that would be freaky,” I say. “But sorry about your folks.”

“Well, I kind of invited it on myself, being a samurai,” says Samurai Cathy. “See, studies have shown that parents of samurai tend not to live very long, even if they are samurai themselves. I’m just glad they died in an accident. Most parents of samurai are killed by rival clans, or ninjas, or unholy demons.”

“Yeah, why is that?” I say. “You never see a grown-up samurai whose parents are still alive.”

“I wish I knew those statistics before I devoted my life to being a samurai,” says Samurai Cathy. “Not that I would have done things differently. It just would have made that first Christmas alone a little easier to take.”

“Or maybe your parents would have tried to steer you toward a less hazardous lifestyle, like being a dragoon or a knight,” I say.

“Maybe indeed,” says Samurai Cathy. “So, how did you spend Mothers’ Day?”

“Drunk in my basement,” I say. “I have no mother or father. I was grown in a lab.”

“Mikka says you have parents, and they live in the next town over,” says Samurai Cathy. “And that they’re very nice people.”

“Mikka is a god damn liar who needs to shut the fuck up!” I yell, losing my shit in the liquor store, again. Samurai Cathy is obviously surprised by this outburst. I catch myself and calm down. “Whoa… where did that come from? Sorry about that. I should just buy my 20-gallon drum of vodka and be off.”

Sometimes the topic of family is a rough one…



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