In Michigan, there are wild turkeys walking in the streets and no matter how many socks you put on warm feet just don't happen without additional help from boots. And yes, sometimes those boots are the pair your mother bought for $10 to help with her turf toe she developed from hitting tennis balls out in the yard for a manic dog that likes to eat her own fur, and the stuffing from her bed, then puke in the yard and inspect the mess daily to see if there are any changes.
Then visitors to MI have to explain that no, they don't need separate checks at the table because they are not dating their younger brother, that the people at the table are just a family of four eating a meal, strange as that may seem. They also get to enjoy seeing what happens when too much boxed wine is consumed in a short period of time, and what the aftermath feels like the next day. (notice how I said "feels").
It's been nice to see family and friends it really has and the ridiculous experiences in between the snow and hours in the car to get anywhere of major commerce have made me realize even more how much I need to better document the goings on in my family. Moreover that a book is not the way to go. I've started and stopped more times than I can remember.
No, it has to be on stage.
To be able to truly express the horror of your mother removing her pants prior to leaving the room you must see it.
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