We'll Never Be Invited Back

                                               

Welcome to the second half of the funeral that felt more like a comedy tour. In this act, we move from midget giraffes to 'Peasant hunts,' and my grandsons—Capt'n Chaos and Sir WhatTheHeck—officially earn their titles. Catch up on the morning's madness here before you dive into the dinner disaster.

 Act III: The Chaos Continued (The arrival of Mom Ralston in spirit)

 After the funeral, we all met at a restaurant just like Mom R. had requested years ago. She’d always said she didn’t want a somber dinner; she wanted us to go out, eat good food, and have a good time. I remember asking her, “You know you aren’t going with us, right?”

Anita just shrugged and said, “I dunno… I think she plans on it.”

Honestly, she might as well have been sitting at the head of the table, because the whole thing turned into a circus within minutes.

Act IV: IT vs. The Great Outdoors (The Steve and Travis Bond)

Travis ended up across from Steve — Sierra’s boyfriend — an IT guy. A real computer‑logic, problem‑solving, tech‑support‑for‑the-universe type. Putting a high‑tech IT professional directly across from a redneck‑as‑they‑come hunter, knife‑maker, and chaos generator was… bold. Like seating a librarian next to a raccoon with a pocketknife.

Steve, trying desperately to find common ground, said, “I’m an IT guy — we should have lots in common!”

Oh, bless him. He had no idea what he’d just signed up for.

Travis didn’t look confused — he looked delighted. Like someone had just handed him a brand‑new little brother to train. You could practically see the gears turning: teach him to hunt… teach him to fish… teach him to make knives… mold him into a proper outdoorsman.

The only thing they actually had in common was that they were sitting at the same table — but Travis had already decided Steve was his next protégé

Then Sierra reached over and swiped a shrimp off Steve’s plate. Before Steve could even register the theft, Travis leaned in like a seasoned woodsman passing down ancient frontier wisdom to his newest apprentice.

“Steve, you gotta learn how to say NO,” he instructed, solemn as a preacher. “I tell my wife ‘no’ all the time.”

Steve blinked, trying to process both the shrimp theft and his sudden enrollment in the Travis School of Life Skills.

I had to jump in before he started taking notes.

“You do realize his wife isn’t here, right?”

Travis didn’t even flinch. Didn’t smile. Didn’t blink.

“Yeah,” he said, deadpan as a gravestone, “and it’s a good thing she isn’t.”

Steve looked like he was trying to download an update he didn’t have enough storage for. Sierra looked like she was considering taking another shrimp just to watch him short‑circuit again. And Travis?

He looked proud. Like he’d just passed down ancient redneck wisdom to a confused city boy who didn’t yet know he’d been adopted.

This was the moment I knew:

Steve was either going to bond with Travis… or need therapy. Possibly both.

Act V: The Kidnapping ( The Victorian Starlet pose) 

Travis decided to share his latest “adventure.”

“I went to an antique mall five minutes before closing,” he said. “The lady told me to go ahead and look, so I did. When I went to leave, the door was locked.

She looked right at me and said, ‘Oh! Looks like you’ve been kidnapped!’”

Most people would panic. Not Travis.

He stood up right there in the restaurant, planted one hand on his hip, bent one knee, and struck a pose so dramatic it could’ve been carved into a Victorian cameo. Then he lifted a finger to his chin and purred:

“What made you choose me?”

That's the moment, she realized maybe he wanted to be kidnapped, and she had accidentally locked herself in with him. She didn’t laugh. She didn't smile. She didn't even breathe.

She scrambled for those keys like she’d just discovered she was trapped in a room with a man who’d escaped his straight jacket and was now choosing violence and flirtation in equal measure.

And when she finally got that door open, she held it wide like she was releasing a wild animal back into its natural habitat — no eye contact, no sudden movements, just pure survival instinct.

Travis said he bets she never kidnaps anyone again.

Act VI: The Peasant Hunt

The conversation drifted to hunting and fishing, and Rob mentioned that Sir WhatTheHeck used to call a tackle box “tackle and hookers.” Sir WhatTheHeck immediately defended himself — “I was THREE!” — but Travis pounced on that phrase like gossip at a church potluck.

He leaned in, elbows on the table, voice dropping into that slow, ominous drawl he uses right before he says something that will scar a child for life. “Oh now boys… you gotta be real careful with that kind of tackle,” he warned. “Those hookers will get you in more trouble than a game warden with binoculars.. They’ll give you things you can’t wash off with creek water. Best thing you can do is leave the hookers alone and stick to bait.”

Capt’n Chaos mixed up pheasants with peasants. He said it with it confidence too — the kind of confidence only a kid with zero context and full imagination can muster.

Travis didn’t miss a beat.

He leaned forward like he was about to share classified information, lowered his voice, and said:

“Ohhh yeah… those Peasant Hunts are killer, Capt’n Chaos. Real hard on the poor people.”

Capt’n Chaos froze.

Travis continued, dead serious:

“What they do is gather up all the peasants from the villages — you know, the ones with the little hats and the sad shoes — and they turn ’em loose in the fields. Then we all line up at dawn and try to hunt ’em down.”

Capt’n Chaos’ eyes went wide enough to see the future.

“I… I didn’t know…” he whispered, horrified.

Travis nodded solemnly, like he was delivering a history lesson.

“Oh yeah. It’s a whole thing. You gotta be real careful, too. Peasants run fast when they’re scared. And if you catch one, you gotta let ’em go — it’s the law. Can’t keep a peasant. They get mad about that.”

By now Capt’n Chaos was rethinking every moral choice he’d ever made.

Travis, sensing he had him fully hooked, added one more line — the closer: “Best thing you can do is stick to pheasants. Peasants’ll ruin your whole weekend.

Act VII: The Angel and the Spanking — Chaos in One Act

Finally, Travis tried to tell everyone I was a “bad influence” on him. That’s when Van’s Aunt Leondra — a saint, a sweetheart, and the only woman alive who could shut Travis down without raising her voice — stood up, pointed a finger straight at him, and declared:

“I’ll have you know, Geannii is a GOOD, SWEET person! YOU, Travis, need a spanking!”

I didn’t miss a beat. I threw my hands over my head and made a halo so bright you could’ve seen it from space. (Oh stop laughing)

Aunt Leondra marched out of the room like she was going to fetch a switch, a Bible, or both.

And Travis — never one to let dignity get in the way of a punchline — hollered after her:

“HEY! Don’t threaten me with a good time and then not follow through!”