That’s quite an accusation, Marianne! To imply that I have up and forgotten my own son’s name! Well, you sure have some nerve! To think I can’t remember…
…
…his name.
No, I’m not going to say it right now! That would only give merit to this insulting line of questioning!
Our son is the fruit of my loins! I made him! He came from me! And for you to, point blank, ask me to say our son’s name out loud! As if I’m merely stalling and hoping that our son’s name pops into my head while we’re arguing! Let it never be said that you lack gall, Marianne! Let it never be said!
I have a lot on my plate right now! I watched a horse die at work today! So if for some reason I’m unable to recall our son’s name AT THE DROP OF A HAT, I think a person could understand why. Not that I don’t remember his name! I do! But saying it now would only vindicate you.
I don’t want to keep fighting, Marianne. Let’s compromise: You say the first few syllables of his name, and then I’ll finish saying it to prove that I know it.
No, it is not bullshit, Marianne! What is bullshit is being pop-quizzed like some junior high school student on arbitrary facts and figures! December 7th, 1941! Pearl Harbor! I have an excellent memory! I know our son’s name! But I resent being tested on it.
Just because I don’t feel like saying our son’s name right this second, even though I easily could, you’re putting me in the hot seat? Well, I don’t appreciate it. You’re not even going to ask how I saw a horse die at work today? I work at a bank, Marianne! It’s an intriguing story! But you’re too busy pointing fingers to want to hear it.
Look, let’s stop this silly argument. Just say his name so we can move on.
Perfect. Jake. I knew that. I love our son, Jake…wait a second, it’s not Jake, is it?! You witch! If you thought I would fall for the old fake-son-name trick, you were wrong! Ohhh, this is a new low, Marianne! A new low!
I hate to beat a dead horse–which coincidentally, I saw someone do at work today–but I will not stand here in my own driveway and be questioned like some two-bit hoodlum!
You wouldn’t ask our son if he remembered his own name, would you? You’d just trust him. Actually, that’s a good idea. Maybe we should get him down here and see if he remembers his own name. And then after he says it, I’ll either agree with him or disagree with him about whether he got it right.
We should bring who into it? Who the hell is Graham? Oh. Ohhhhh.
Aw fuck.
Sam Weiner is a writer and performer in Los Angeles. He makes videos with his sketch group Sad On Vacation and sometimes he Twitters.
The Humor Section features a piece of original humor writing each week. To submit to it, send an email to Becca O’Neal.
