Besides a fucking lecture from My Fucking Father about picking up a piece of dim sum by using my chopstick as a fork -- I'm 40, you idiot, and living at home with you does not make me an exception -- this day actually turned out alright. Got home later than I thought, past sundown, and when My Fucking Father suggested my brother-in-law drive all the way home I thought that he was subtly saying that he now prefers him over me. But I am typing this now from my bed in my room in the only home I have ever known and ever want to know, and I am fine.
Saying that, it was nice to go out and see some new sights (Buffalo, Niagara Falls), go in-depth into a couple places I have been to (Toronto, Chicago), and stop in a city just for lunch (in Cleveland, a place I've been to once before and might want to go back to again). Heck, even staying the first night of our road trip in Mishawaka, Ind., right next to South Bend, was nice because I got to drive past Notre Dame, our hated rival.
The company? Eh. My sister and brother-in-law, we got along, but it was getting hairy there near the end. Sister-in-law was her cheery self. Niece still looks at me like I'm dead to her, but that's fine. Brother? Yeah, I'm glad we won't be seeing each other for a while. Parents? We needed to be separated, and them being in the basement right now is perfect.
But I'll say this: We constructed this roadtrip because Mother wanted to cross Niagara Falls off of her bucket list. The stops in Toronto and Chicago were, I think, the ideas of my sister and brother, respectively, and that's why we made this a weeklong roadtrip. But it was predicated on Mother, and when we finally got to the driveway, I patted her on the shoulder. She accomplished something she wanted to do, and I at least respect that.
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