Yeah, they decided this about two weeks ago. I knew this because ... well, first thing is is that they had to come home because of this trip they thought they were taking to Mexico when it was in fact Biloxi/Gulfport, Mississippi, which is next to the Gulf of Mexico. But I really knew this when they called me and asked me for their help in booking their tickets through Spirit Airlines. Well, they booked the tickets through Spirit, but they wanted me to help them sign up as part of the airline's $9 Fare Club. They thought that with an annual fee (which was discounted ten bucks for the first year), they can fly anywhere for just nine bucks. Turns out the phrase "$9 Fare Club" is just a name that used to have meaning; Spirit doesn't offer $9 fares anymore, members are just offered "club prizes" that are scarcely better than the regular price. Then why don't they rename the "$9 Fare Club?" Because they're Spirit Airlines and they traffic in misleading bullshit, that's why.
Anyway, I was on the phone when they told me they were about to book their tickets. And book them they did, for next week. They will be here for about eight days before their vacation down south (assuming there are no hurricanes flooding the casinos), but they will be back a mere four days later. And then ... well, they are planning a cruise in January, but for all I know, they'll fucking be back for good.
Look, I may have talked about how lonely I would get as I adjust to them not being here. And I have to admit that as I'm falling asleep I wonder, if I die, how long will it take for someone to realize that I might not be alive and barge down this door. But beyond that, I am fucking so goddamn happy that I have/had this house all to myself. I can go get a coffee at 10 on a school night if I want to. I can strew my clothes and shit around my bedroom -- around the house -- without getting any static. I can even fucking walk around naked if I want to without a parental unit yelling at me. But goddammit, I'll have to share this house with them again, and that means getting fat because they want me to, not because I want myself to. Oh, and the lack of privacy. And the intrusive questions. And the yelling and judgement, all the goddamn yelling and judgement.
And in the meantime I have to clean up the room. God, I wonder, if my parents didn't get confused about this trip, and they decided that, because it's not Mexico, they weren't going to take this trip down to the Gulf of Mexico, would they be coming back?
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