Anderson Table Rules of Conduct

1. Minors must set the table with appropriate furnishings: forks, knives, napkins, plates/bowls, etc. Special requests must be repeated twice or thrice, but odds are Meredith (aka kid sister) won't hear you at all because she's busy pouring the milk in unfair proportions so might as well tell me a few times to get whatever condiments you say are so absolutely necessary for your precious palate. Oh, and also, if we're having salad, please don't put those blasted wooden salad bowls on the table. I gotta hand-wash those buggers. And if Mom asks, just give her one, but negotiate first with her, won't you?

2. Once seated, and everyone is not busy filling their plates to their hearts' content, one must be chosen to bless the food. Choose wisely; one must be in good spirits, be aware of what reasons the other table members are in not so great of spirits, and should be able to articulate those reasons in prayer in a subtly humorous manner.

3. The only rules for the actual consuming part are as listed:

• Chew with your mouth closed- generic but seriously, it's disgusting
• Put your napkin in your lap! (You should've done this before we said grace, ya' rookie)
• Don't look like a caveman
• Use the napkin 
• Don't drop the napkin
• Oh, and apparently there's a correct way to hold your fork, but hopefully you've learned by now

4. Conversation-- the most essential component! All are required to share the nitty-gritty of their day, whether it be about school, work, people-watching within those establishments  or elsewhere, bad jokes, good jokes, impossible riddles (Meredith...), the things you ate ("I ate 2 crickets at school, Mom! And they served salmon and lobster bisque for lunch!" Imagine the looks on there faces...), weird things you heard while eavesdropping, what made you steam, what made you almost pee yourself, the sign person on the street you saw dressed as a taco, how you totally flubbed at volleyball in gym class and nearly hit the coach in the head with your wonky serve, the other kid that actually hit him in the head... The list goes on and on and on! You see, the possibilities are endless.

5. The rule is that once everyone is finished eating, the conversation may linger until all the most entertaining things you actually remember are announced. And if you remember later, well, odds are everyone's back to fiddling on their tablets and smartphones so might as well just share it on Facebook and hope someone sees it and you get a few measly likes.

6. (Conversation must have ended) Table must now be cleared and the post-supper clean-up must commence. Meredith will clear; I will wash. No exceptions. Unless I've been cursed with more unreasonable amounts of homework than usual. Otherwise, it's my territory. Don't you lift that sponge to that soiled frying pan! Don't touch it! Only I am worthy. Only me. I do not trust most to scrub as meticulously as I. So don't you dare touch those dishes.

7. Once again, I alone shall do the dishes, and I alone shall be the DJ for this event. Do not cramp my dish-mojo. I got this down. I will pick the tunes. You will tolerate the tunes. You will tolerate me singing to the tunes, and you will not, repeat, will not, record me doing so. Period.

Looks like somebody violated protocol. 

Maybe he just likes your deodorant...

Mom puts the food on the table and I hustle to get the salt, the pepper, the ketchup my kid sister can't live without. Meredith and I fight for the taller glass of milk, and as usual, I win this battle. We sit down, anxious to dig in. I pick at the mashed potatoes when I think no one's looking and Meredith gives me a dirty look. Mom sits and hollers at Dad to get off his phone, and finally, all four of us are united, yet another evening of Mom's good cookin' and each other's company.

But before anyone can share the highlights of their day and the idiots and/or good samaritans they met along the way, we hold hands and bow our heads to say grace, to thank the Lord for these entertaining and ever so special people in our lives. It's Dad's turn tonight, Mom insists. Eyes closed (except for maybe Meredith's because I swear she peeks to see if I'm peeking), Dad blesses the food, and he asks God to be with those who can't be at the dinner table peeking during prayer and stealing morsels with us tonight, but before he can get to the part about how insanely lucky we are for our nutty family, Mom lets out a snort. He pauses. He peeks- well we all do- and continues. 

Aaaagh, HANK!!!!! 

-and a cold wet nose sneaks its way up my armpit. Dad hurries to the "Amen" but that cold wet nose finds a new victim and poor Dad is assaulted in the same manner. Forget an amen, God would understand, because it is apparent that the blessing of the food has just been punk'd, and not by Ashton Kutcher, but by a

BIG

FAT

HAIRY

STINKY

DOG

And we were all unfazed, because we loved that dog.

And I would give an arm and a leg for that canine to interrupt our prayer tonight; In fact, I'd do anything just to have his reeking, disgusting breath all over my steak and potatoes just one more time.
I can try to pretend, but that horrific aroma surely can't be replicated. And no human, animal, or celebrity could replace the best addition to the Anderson table there ever was. Never again.


We miss you, Hank.


And I can just see you now, nudging God's armpit when he's trying to listen to the prayers we send every night, and I bet he smirks and squirms just as much as we did-- and I know he loves you that much, too.

Hello! Welcome! But wipe your feet, won't you?

It is my honor to introduce to you the Andersons, just another average *2-2-2 American family. Consider yourself an interim member as you're emerged in the ordinary and routine instances that occur within this collection of mainstream human beings.

Oh, wait.
Wrong family.

Despite my inability to find enough words that are the close equivalent of "eccentric", I believe that you (whomever you may be), can look past my drastically limited vocabulary and see for yourself just what I endure on a day-to-day basis with this most spectacular flock of oddballs.

And yes.
I admit that I, too, am a member of this gaggle, a fellow oddity.

And no.

I am not ashamed.

*2 kids, 2 cars, 2 dogs, or 2 of anything your heart desires. Anything but bathrooms. Unfortunately, only 1 bathroom in the Anderson home...