43,500 words, and the Plucky Girl Detective has run into a snag. Her prime suspect and newly discovered love interest has turned out to be a 150 year old giant iguana whose skin plays YouTube videos of people falling down in comical ways whenever he's exposed to daylight.
"I forgive you for keeping your secret," says the PGD. "All that matters to me is that you aren't a friggin' vampire."
"Shh," he replies, "in this one, the guy trips over a fire hose..."
29: I'm thankful that your relatives aren't my relatives. I have spent the last several months getting to know many of you in both bloggy world and the much more artificial, far less reliable "real" world, and I have reached one inescapable conclusion:
Your families are insane.
I won't name names here nor link blogs, in part because I respect your privacy but mostly because this way I can maintain plausible deniability, but in the last year since I began blogging I've read some pretty hair raising stuff. Seriously, my hair is standing STRAIGHT UP just thinking about some of the nonsense the fellow swimmers in your wacky gene pool are likely to do.
For example, one of you has two brothers who mouthed off to Mexican police in Tijuana, then managed to pull off the ultimate shell game when retrieving their driver's licenses and making a break for it before being hauled off to jail.
Another one tells of the time her sister started laughing during a dance concert in which she was participating (this hysteria brought on by the understandably humorous accident of a fellow dancer's skirt falling off before the dance had even begun) only to giggle so hard she peed all over the stage, and then when the teacher's little princess daughter who always got all the solos came fluttering onto the stage she fell down in the pee, which made the sister laugh and pee even more.
And what about that dad of one of yours who got into a squabble with a fellow golfer and engaged in a low-speed chase all over the course in their golf carts?
Nuts, I tell ya. Loonies, plain and simple.
One blogger friend of mine has a couple of sisters who back-sassed several large, mean, easily provoked women at the most bizarre activity ever sponsored by any religious group - an all-girls camp out on the church lawn - and ended the night in a verbal brawl that had their mother hiding in the bottom of her sleeping bag.
And most recently, one of you blogged about a number of women who got together in a Park City condo and engaged in a group face-waxing that had one woman charging twenty-five cents a pop to the others for the chance to peek through the slit in the door frame at the bearded lady carnival act they had once known as their eldest sister. This same event left an unsuspecting niece-in-law with just one eyebrow, all because the waxing was carried out, not by a professional aesthetician, but by a waitress.
All of this leads me to reflect on just how grateful I am that I come from a normal, boring, middle-of-the-road family. Because, honestly, with your crazy relatives hanging around, I don't know how you people can even show your faces in public.
At least let Amber work on your little mustache problem...
After receiving six comments, I'm feeling guilty for not being...um...completely up front with this post. As much as I would love to hang all the above antics on the families of you, my fellow blogger, I must confess, all of these stories are, in fact, about me. And, you know, my relatives. And this is the proverbial tip of the antler, let me tell you.