In response to the Holiday Weekend prompt at Writingthe200.
Uncle Kazmo never paid for a meal in his life. Did he never eat out? Did he hold a position of influence or company paid charge card? Was he a revered man with many friends who insisted on picking up the tab? No, no, and most certainly no.
He had 365 fake id’s, one for every birth date that wasn’t his own, staggered in birth years to age him from 14 to 84, and a suitcase of hats, toupees and props lending credibility to his claims. A king of the complementary meal deal, he would drive 50 miles out of the way to take advantage of an offering. Vacations were planned around destinations abundant with free dining promotions.
Life with Uncle Kaz was no picnic. His dithering ways sent Aunt Dee to an early grave. No one knew she was allergic to shellfish until their holiday weekend spent in Oysterville.
‘Remember’, he coached Dee, as the server approached, check in hand, ‘We’ve been married 15 years today.’
‘Seems longer,’ were her last words before swelling up like a Macy’s balloon and expiring into a bowl of chowder while Kaz flashed a forged certificate and dickered over the charge for nuts.