Guest Post by Mrs. Flinger
My parents are here visiting from Texas. It's a wonderful visit... if by wonderful you mean you're completely PRO Texas and ANTI Northwest-liberal-hippy. Apparently we're all three hemp necklaces away from a commune up here. The recycling! The trees! All. That. Fresh. Air!
It's enough to make a girl almost appreciate the 3,000 miles between Seattle and Houston.
I once told a friend, when asked what my favorite part of Texas was, "The middle. That way, no matter what direction you're going, you're always heading out."
So, like I was saying, this visit is going well(ish). But I'm remembering why we as a generation have chosen to move far beyond the lands of our roots. Far beyond that place formerly known as "home". Beyond the umbilical chord.
It's because of the TV.
See, right now, even as I attempt to think, or write, or work, or godforbid hold a conversation, the TV is up so loud it impales my brain. Old people? They listen to the TV so. damn. loud. And I'm pretty sure that's why I live in Seattle and not Houston. Because any closer and I'd probably hear the TV from my parent's house, one of the seven of them tuned to various stations like FoxNews and TexasRocksTV and VoteBush, from my kitchen window,
Did you hear that? Did you? It was the sound of a Jetta Commercial. I'm pretty sure my Dad just passed out on the remote again. Darn that 7pm bedtime.
--Mrs. Flinger normally blogs her blahblahblaaabbb here . She is honored to be able to keep the bunny alive! Save the bunny! Save the blog! (Except, she failed miserably at moblomeformo or whatever. Horribly. Miserably! L-AH-OOSER.) But she's here for Megan. And honored to be.
Writer. Mother.
