Sorry I sounded weird last night, but the parental units were right there. Dad was in his chair and Mom was on the sofa—both sitting as far from each other as they could while still being in the same room. They’re doing the not-talking thing again. It keeps me busy.
Dad: Justin, would you please tell your mother she’s being paranoid?
Me: Dad says lighten up Mom.
Mom: Justin, please inform your father he’s a liar.
Me: This is so lame, would you guys just talk to each other?
Remember those conversations that you were in the middle of? Now all you have to do is march around and shoot guns. Want to trade? I better go; Mrs. Perez is giving me the eye like she suspects I’m not doing algebra.
Adios and hasty banana.
Your suffering brother,
P.S. The units are both off work. Mom said she needed a mental health day but I bet it’s backfiring. All that will be left are two pairs of empty shoes with smoke coming out of them by the time I get home.