Changing Lightbulbs

Vanessa and I had been trying to get each other on the phone for a couple of days. We kept missing each other until Saturday afternoon when we could both sit down for a few minutes, okay a couple of hours, and catch up.

As I'm talking to her, I can hear lots of commotion in the background. We're conversing and every 2 or three sentences or so, Vanessa shouts out, "They're in the laundry area!" or "Did you look?" and "Don't make me look for you!"

"What's going on over there?" I ask idly.

"Oscar's looking for his workboots." She explains, punctuated with "You and Sabrina have no idea how to FIND things!" (Not ME and Sabrina, Oscar and Sabrina.)

"Tell him you'll pinch him if you end up finding it yourself. That's what my mom would say".

Kindhearted Vanessa ignores my advice, choosing instead to rustle around and shout out, "I found them!"

"Pinch him!" I egg on. Again, Vanessa ignores me. I hear my brother grumble something in the background. He's saying something about the boots being old. "You do NOT need new workboots!" She scolds.

"What does he need workboots for?" I am interested. You see, Vanessa and Oscar own a large property. 1/4 acre. In L.A. County, that's HUGE. They have plenty of land with lots of opportunities to use workboots.

"He's going to change the lightbulb on the front porch." Vanessa tells me with a straight face. I'm sure her face is straight even though I can't see her. I can pretty much tell by her voice that her face is perfectly straight.

"So he needs workboots to change a lightbulb? NEW workboots?"

"Oh, you know your brother."
Vanessa is exasperated with ME and changes the subject.