The Days Before That Woman in Long Island's Surgery

Day One The Meal before the Meal

Am here in Mastic Beach, New York, as my sister, Susan (aka Cynthia, aka That Woman from Long Island), is having bariatric surgery on Tuesday. I came to offer moral support, but mostly to torture her by eating as much food as possible around her (and to talk about how delicious it is) because . . . a brother’s love. Apparently, Nephew Noah, he’s the youngest — works at JFK — asked his mother last week how she felt about Uncle Barry writing about her procedure, adding, “Not that it matters. He’s going to anyway.”

Lest you think I’m a total monster, of course I checked with Sue, or whatever her name is, before starting this blog diary thingy.

“Only if it’s funny and I get to read it first,” Susan said, “will I let you.”

Whatevs, baby sis.

I think I told this story before, but in case you’re new to these parts, here goes: Sue came to Tulsa a few years back and wanted to buy a University of Oklahoma hoodie. She told the clerk — and he was a friend — “Bruce, I need a 4 XL.” Bruce went in the back, came out, and said, “Susan, sorry, but we only have a 6 XL.”

“6 XL?” Susan asked in mock horror, “How do people let themselves go like that?”

Nephew Chris, he’s the middle son who makes the big bucks, picked me up in his Tesla at the recently renovated LaGuardia (LGA if you’re scoring at home; “LaGarbage” if you work at JFK). With Susan home on a liquid diet —and she has been for weeks — Noah, Emily, Chris, and I decided to meet at the Airport Diner near Islip Airport (Jesse is in Jersey doing pre-Sunday morning pastoral things). As Chris and I would arrive first, we had some time to kill, so I mentioned how perhaps we should get a slice of pizza or two before heading to the diner. The idea, of course, was insane and gluttonous and ridiculous . . . and the pizza place was closed.

We all arrived at the diner and were quickly moved to a table in a closed section. Noah had two hamburgers, Emily had a beef wrap thing with French Fries, Chris had some kind of challah breakfast sandwich, and I had shrimp and scallop parmesan.

Chris and I also had soup.

(It came with the meal! We should have turned it down? Please.)

Susan called as we were leaving.

“What did you guys eat?”

Homina, homina, homina

If she said, “Fuck you all!” — and I think she did — it was out of hunger, not anger.

Anyway, when we got back to the house, we could have had, like, real desserts, but we had sugar-free popsicles with her to show our support.

And did she thank us? She did not.