Who Took the "FUN" Out of Dysfunctional?

I don't know who first took all the "fun" out of "dysfunctional,"

but I can almost guarantee you that she was a woman who

got tired of cooking and doing all the other stuff that women

did to keep themselves occupied back in the days when I was born.  

Now, let's get one thing straight right from the very get-go:

I am not a woman hater.  In fact, most of the people whom I

have found to be totally despicable dirty rotten bastards

have been men.  

First off, there was my junior high school gym teacher

who wore Italian loafers with horseshoe cleats on the heels

so that he "clicked" like a gelding on cobblestone as he

paraded around the shower room, making sure that nobody

faked taking a shower by merely sticking their  heads under

the water.  

Then, there was the son of a bitch who shot JFK and, by so doing, was responsible for cancelling my college’s “Winter Ball” and my long-awaited date with Beverly who, had we attended that dance, I imagined might have been my first wife and the mother of my unborn children. 

And, of course, most hated of all was my Uncle Jimmy.  Uncle Jimmy never worked.  Well, I think maybe he had a morning paper route.  His wife, my aunt, was an advertising executive and so while she worked 14 hour days six days a week, Uncle Jimmy cooked, cleaned house, did the grocery shopping, and campaigned for the Democrats.  None of the men in my family liked Uncle Jimmy.  While Jimmy washed Sunday dinner dishes, my father and other uncles drank his beer and smoked his cigars, often making snide remarks about Jimmy’s masculinity just loud enough to be overheard by the womenfolk, but never loud enough to be heard out in the kitchen over the clatter of Jimmy’s copper-bottomed pots and pans. 

A lifetime of social revolution and evolution has drawn me to describe in detail as best as I can piece it all together exactly how I have become my Uncle Jimmy.