1. The house isn’t clean enough.
2. The garage isn’t clean enough.
3. The Butcher is going to his friends for dinner on Thursday so they have to have dinner just with me.
The Butcher had my car and they needed him to meet them at the motel to help unpack. He called and asked if I wanted him to swing by and pick me up so that I could see them last night. I was like, “What are you talking about? I’ll see them when they come over to the house.”
And he actually said, “I don’t think they’re going to want to come over to the house. It’s almost nine. I’ll just load the stuff that needs to come to the house and bring it on over here.”
And I sat there dumbfounded for a second, and said, “They’re going to want to come to the house.” And he got mad at me! “I say they’re not.”
Yeah, buddy? Who’s gloating on the internet?
I wish it were legal and ethical to give your parents pot brownies without their knowledge. I feel like, if I could figure out a way to keep them from realizing what I was up to, lobbying for a “But come on! This is how every visit goes!” exception to many, many drug laws would be fairly easy. I’d just unleash them down at the State Capitol and we’d get parental marijuana passed in this state no problem.
Ha, I kid. They won’t even alleviate the suffering of cancer patients. Of course, most cancer patients won’t come to their houses and tell them the 90 things that are unacceptable insults to them. Which means, maybe, cancer patients should consider hiring my parents as their lobbyists. Sorry, NORML, your ways are slow and too hippified. You’re too nice.
Probably all the pot.
Which is why my folks need it.
Ha ha ha ha ha ha.
Lord almighty, I would forgo every present they ever got me if they would learn to be happy. Not funny or amusing or delightful, which they are, often, but just happy. A little bit. If their default wasn’t “Oh my god, something is fucked up! I don’t know what and I don’t know where, but it’s obvious something has not been done right.”
Not just because them moving through the world like this is so painful to their kids, but because it is so obviously painful to them.
Stop it! You’re not helping me gird myself for visiting my own family this weekend.
I have to laugh about the garage not being clean enough, because if it were my place, in order to get the house clean I’d have to put all the crap out in the garage. So you could have a clean house, or a clean garage, but never both.
Hang in there. You’ll get through this.
As will I, as I’m about to go visit my own nutty family.