Pass Over

I am back. I had a large dinner yesterday with my wife's family. It included two of her aunts and uncles, her sister, brother in law, and their five children, four of her cousins and two of their spouses and children, her brother and us. In all there were 21 people in my outlaws' condominium unit. It was bedlam.

The funniest part was, of course, my father in law, who is losing it, though I am not sure he ever had "it" to begin with. Their unit was hotter than Hades, as usual. I tell him if ever sat next to Satan he would still wear a coat. He was wearing an undershirt, shirt and light sweater over the shirts. I was sweating like Richard Simmons in a biker bar. I had to wring out my underwear. I am opening windows and my father in law is closing them right behind me. The best part was that he could not wait to put out the ice. He puts it out at nine in the morning, ten hours before everyone is to arrive, and he cannot figure out why it melted. The laws of physics have ceased to exist on his home planet.

I should not make fun, but it is a constant loop with no memory. The kids are running around and he is screaming at them to stop and be careful. They do not listen. He keeps on screaming. I am sitting there thinking, well if you want them to stop, shut up and DO something. But when in doubt keep repeating yourself. If after the first time they do not listen, saying it ten times will work. That is a key strategy. I see it play out like that in my home. Is it learned or genetic? Either way.

On a bright note, by smearing the lamb's blood on our doors, the Angel of Death did pass over our house. Of course, the horde of raccoons have been licking our door. The joke is on them, though, with all the lead based paint I used on that door, surely they will end up retarded. Then again, there is little worse than a retarded raccoon, of course, we call them squirrels. Speaking of which there is a mangy one that runs around the neighborhood. It has large patches of fur missing. It almost looks as if somebody has operated on it. If somebody has, I need to know who it was, because I will have to kick him in the nuts. Squirrels are bushy tailed rats, neither cute nor to be tolerated. I have declared war on the squirrels and the raccoons, too, for shitting on my deck and garage roof.

Family, Angels of Death, raccoons and squirrels, you have had it all here today. Ciao.