Don’t get me wrong: I love (most of) my family. However, I can only stand so much of them.
You may be wondering what’s got me so pissed off. Well, my mother-in-law organized a little going-away party for my brother, who just entered the U.S. Army. Not shooting people in Iraq, but shooting messages everywhere. People invited included all family members of both my brother and his wife, pastors, friends, casual aquaintances, and basically everyone in the small town of Larkspur, which is near the place that (I believe) my principal, Mr. Booth, lives.
The party was held in the Larkspur Firehouse’s meeting room, which is the same place we held a birthday party for my nephew, Connor. Most of the invites over the age of 50 were in attendance, including my dad’s parents who drove up from their vacation in Tuscon, AZ. All anyone said to me was about how much taller I was. And I’m not going to lie to you: I am tall. I’m taller than almost everyone I know. They also told me to do better in school, and I probably should, but I’m too damned lazy.
So, in summary: Family = BAD. Friends = GOOD.
