With the blockbuster that was Easter and then the less-stressful, but still not-good-place inducing fun of Father’s Day, I’m going to Michigan in a week. To see my family. I feel anxious about it and then I feel terribly guilty that I feel anxious about it. Which, you know, fun. But I am hoping to do a tour de cemeteries for dead Phillipses. I just need to talk someone into driving over to Pontiac to see Luke and Patience. But their kid, Oscar, died in Marshall, and his kid, Frank, died in Battle Creek, and Grandpa is in Battle Creek. So, that should be easy enough.
And there will be babies! Lots of fat babies. One who has taken up biting as a hobby, I hear, which, all things considered, seems like a fine hobby to have.
Edited to add: So, I called my dad to confirm that Frank is dead in Battle Creek, since it seems weird we would go to Battle Creek at least twice a year every year for my whole live and never once visit his grave and my dad told me that now that my mom can see, she’s going to be mad about how fat I am. So… yeah, this is already going to suck, I can feel it. If you’re keeping track–I will never find a man who will marry me AND apparently my mom will be grossed out by me. Man, you know, this totally feels like concern about my “health” and not at all like an attempt to make me feel insecure and off-kilter.