Mustache Thanks: Aunt Margaret

WHAT? What is this girl talking about? "Mustache thanks"?! This blog makes no sense. I’m leaving.

STOP! Turn. Come back.

Lemme ‘splain. No, there is too much. Let me sum up: I did a thing for charity (involving mustaches) back a few months ago and promised anyone who donated that I would write a blog post about them. And then I didn’t write a post about my aunt, who donated bravely along with the rest of them. And the children appreciated her dollars just as much as the next person. And yet I did not post.

And time went by. And I did not post.

And more time went by. And- wait, what was that? Oh right, I did not post.

The thing is, I was waiting for inspiration. But none came. See, from what I can gather from the stories my mom has told me, back in the day, Aunt Margaret was kind of a badass.

I haven’t gotten the chance to hang out with my aunt because she’s always lived very far from me. So I can only base my knowledge on stories my mom told me a long time ago. And since I have no memory whatsoever, even those stories are pretty skewed in my mind.

SO! What’s a girl to do?! Why, a girl is to make up a fake story about her lovely Aunt Margaret, that’s what!

Here goes.

Margaret was raised in The Good Ol’ Days. Back when women consulted Good Housekeeping before they fluffed their pillows. When they rationed their use of butter because men needed it to fight the Nazis, who were renowned for their aversion to the stuff. They spent their days lamenting over pot roasts and recovering from the vapors, which they were overcome by each time they were forced to look at anything unseemly.

Not Margaret.

Margaret was born in a pair of skinny jeans and a leather jacket. When she was three, an older boy pulled her pigtail, so she turned around and put her cigarette out on his chest. When my grandparents tried to tell Margaret what to do, she blew that popsicle stand and hitchhiked her way to Vegas, where she took a lover named Alfonzo. From there, she spent her days skinning chickens by day and making hooch by night.

Okay, I’m already out of ideas for what to tell you about Fake Aunt Margaret. So I guess I just have to tell you that the Real Aunt Margaret as I know her is really great. She’s super supportive of me even though she hardly knows me and has a mysterious, badass past. And from what I can tell, she’s very interested in helping you tend your Farmville garden, if anyone needs some help.

So here’s to Aunt Margarets, both Real And Fake: Two very awesome ladies (though I think I’m partial to the real one to be honest), who helped some inner city Chicago kids take a few steps closer to being rock star students.