I never like being home when my parents come home on the weekends. I usually think My Fucking Father would think it the perfect time to yell at me for not doing chores around the house. For no particular reason I felt I needed to flee the house, even if for only a couple hours, even if I come back before they do.

Well, I stayed long enough at My Favorite Coffeeshop (Afternoon Edition) working on The Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey that My Fucking Father called home as I was walking home.

Trouble ... but now how I thought. He was making noodles for us when I got home. At the dinner table I only saw three place settings. Normally this meant that Grandmother wasn't eating. But this was one of the times that Mother wasn't eating. In fact, I didn't see Mother all night.

What I did have was My Fucking Father being a prick again. He wanted to know if I filled out all the forms for his unnecessary trip to the Mayo Clinic. I haven't yet. "Do it tonight," he commanded. Sure I will. Dick.