Up bright and early to head to the annual extended family vacation, sponsored by my dad.
I really hope it’s as awesome as the one two years ago,
when my youngest brother got drunk and got into a screaming match with my mom
that could be heard all the way at the other end of the hotel. My sisters and I know because we requested rooms at the opposite end of
the hotel from my brother and my mom, and that’s where we first heard all the
I tell you what, peeps:
Nothing says white trash more loudly than a mother and her drunken son
screaming back and forth about who actually sprung for the bill at the pool
The whole thing made Mom so mad that she swore she’d
never come on another family vacation again, to which my dad responded,
“Good. I’m sick of paying for your room,
anyway. It’s about time we start acting
like the divorced couple we are.”
Yes. As if separate rooms could keep those perverts apart
when they’re lonely and needing some action.
But we all pretend to believe them, because otherwise we’ll puke.
Ah, family vacations...aren’t they the loveliest?
Wish me luck.