Picture this (because I didn’t take a picture): Animals in the back seat; me, the lizard, and my parents’ shih-tzu, and the old demented people in the front. My Dad shouldn’t be allowed to tow a 40 foot RV, let alone drive a motor vehicle that goes over 2 mph. What should have been a six hour drive took more like nine hours. We stopped at every single rest area. While actually on the road, every time he went right of the white line in the slow lane, he ran over the rumble strips in the pavement. Chloe, their stupid dog, freaked out every time.
Do you know what happens when this tiny dog gets scared? Her anal glands ooze. I wanted to throw the mop-dog out of the fucking window. She wanted me to comfort her, but being the evil person I am, I kept tossing her back onto her side of the bench seat so she wouldn’t get her ass grease all over me. I came out clean in the end, but my pillow did not. Uuuuuuuuuuuuugh the stiiiiiiiink. I’m going to super glue her buttholes shut if I ever have to travel with them again. Unpleasant smells REALLY get to me, especially when I’m already carsick.
My countdown to freedom from familial assholes is dead. My soul is nearly as dead as my countdown. I figure I’m pretty typical in the matter of feeling that I need antidepressants in order to be able to tolerate family. Moreso his than mine, but this doesn’t mean my parents, particularly my Dad, don’t take the wind out of my sails and leave me up a shit creek without a paddle or trolling motor other than my flatulence. At least it’s something.
Toot toot, mofos.