…oh, bugger off Monty Python. I cannot conceivably look on the bright side of life when looming before me is this ghastly trip to Hag’s Face, er, Nag’s Head Beach to spend what will feel like an eternity awkwardly pretending to not hate Stephen’s family.
Is it too late to go hang out at an old folks’ home in hopes of contracting meningitis/pneumonia/dementia/prostate cancer? Nothing serious. Just enough to get me out of this weekend. Like rabies (per Eva). It’s times like this I wish I had an allergy of some kind. I could pretend to accidentally have eaten a peanut or some milk, have one of my football player guys punch me in the face for swelling and be off, scott fuckin’ free. Relatively so, anyway. Believe me, a little roughing up is infinitely preferable to Earlene and her Family Reunion Freak-show of Horror.
Oh well. I suppose there is still time to be hit by a car. Or get a scalding case of pink-eye… Hm. Pink-eye. How hard would that be to fake?!