- My dysfunctional family
- My Dad (biological... Much to my chagrin).
Here's why: Tonight's dinner was evidently prepared by both my dad, and his girlfriend (who is the only sane one among us). How was I to know that if I didn't choose to eat stuffing or casserole (prepared by my dad's girlfriend) that my dad would open a portal to hell? Needless to say that knowing what I do now, I would have rather spent today with Tom Cruise on speed (*look for an upcoming blog about this*) than with my own Norman Bates v.2.0 (a.k.a. "Dad"). The next couple of hours were spent toiling in the "kitchen of doom" {cue "leather-whip sound-fx"} complete with my father snarling such classics as:
- Dad: (sarcastic) "hmm... I don't know? How about you figuring something out yourself for once!"
Me: "I didn't know and I just didn't want to have to re-load the dishwa..."
Dad: "DON'T SASS ME YOUNG MAN!"
Me: "But I..."
Dad: "THAT'S IT! NO DESSERT FOR TWO WEEKS!"
Me: "Yes sir..."
Dad: "I'LL MAKE IT THREE IF YOU DON'T SHUT UP AND GET TO WORK!"
I could go on but I won't. Mainly because my two-minute break is up and I don't really have time to be thankful for anything else.
happy thanksgiving... *sigh* Good Grief...
