So, we (by “we” I mean some of my family and I) had one of our famous “discussions” (and by “discussion” I mean argument) yesterday, which covered a lot of ground (by “covered a lot of ground” I mean you couldn’t have followed it with a map and a navigation system) and ended with no clear points that any of us agreed on.
Luckily, Steve missed it, because if he had witnessed it, I would have had to suffer through hours of “I can’t believe you get so worked up about _____” and “What’s the big deal, anyway?” and “I can’t believe how loud your family is. Do they think it’s some kind of contest to see who can talk the loudest? And does your dad REALLY have to have the TV that loud?”
[Truthfully, I hear that last one every time we leave a family gathering of any sort. And, yes, it is a contest. Gina usually wins, except when Ginger is there. And sometimes Ginger wins anyway, even though she is in Colorado. She’s that loud.]
Unluckily, my cousin Jon had to witness it, because we had this particular “discussion” at the drug store. Why did we have a large gathering there? Because it’s my family. And at any given time we will congregate wherever we can find food. Poor guy. I don’t think his family is quite as fun (and by “fun” I mean dysfunctional, but in a normal, we-all-love-each-other and they-should-make-a-sitcom-out-of-us way.)
Basically, the “discussion” (you remember what that really means, right?) ended when one of my sisters called me dumb, threatened to pull my hair, and left. We’ll laugh about it, but not venture too far into this particular “discussion” in the near future. That’s how we roll.
[Seriously, though. Responsibility and fault are synonyms, and thesaurus.com agrees with me. That’s all I’m sayin’.]
I love my family. They should totally make a sitcom out of us.