"YOU'RE gone with the wind."

Dad's retort to mom as they bicker over something to do with GONE WITH THE WIND being on TV, dad wanting to watch it, mom not, who the fuck cares. All I know is that I was TRYING to urinate in peace while this fucking insanity ensued just outside the door. The excruciating ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-ba of their "conversation" ended abruptly with dad's walking away while uttering his title line. Thank GOD...peace! Urination...COMMENCE! But, wait, no...there was an Act Two...that involved ME. Me, standing above the toilet, JUST yearning to cleanse my system and bladder. But dad MUST talk to me -- make that YELL --from the top of the stairs..."GARY, DO YOU WANNA TAKE SOME FOOD HOME?" I calmly waited...said nothing. SURELY this will signal to him what he ALREADY knew -- that I was in the FUCKING bathroom -- and he'd quickly guess from knowing me his entire life that I wouldn't wanna scream meal plans through the fucking door while clutching my dick. He surely won't bellow with a follow-up, right? Please. After praying to Jesus for 3 seconds max that I wouldn't have to loudly admonish him through the door for continuing to bother me...he continued to bother me. "GARY...." I don't even know what he said. I just know I instantly screamed at the top of my lungs that I was in the goddamn bathroom and wasn't carrying on a conversation about lasanga from the toilet. THIS shut him up, while also elicting laughter from mother. The bathroom is NO refuge in THAT house. But let me end by commending dad and not issuing him a tongue-lashing, as I BEGAN my Struggle to Urinate by laughing out loud at his sardonic barb thrown mom's way. SEE the range of emotions I experience in ONE trip to the toilet? Yes, I live a many-textured life.