Everybody’s workin’ for the weekend.

Except me. Me? I’m counting down to next Friday, the day that decides the entire course of the rest of our entire lives. Or the day that Bill goes for that job interview in Oregon. Take your pick, but if you’re like me, you’re going with the more dramatic version.

I have recently realized that adults who aren’t having sex with each other on a regular basis should not live together, whether they’re blood-related or not, whether they like each other or not. Since I don’t care to have sex with either of Bill’s parents, much less both of them, living here is something that needs to be over soon. I think they both would agree wholeheartedly.

Don’t get me wrong – I’m grateful we have a place to live. I’m grateful that we don’t have to worry about how to feed the kids or where we’re going to shower or whether or not we’ll die from heatstroke living in the car. Although if we had to live in the car, I’m betting we’d have driven to Canada by now. Or someplace where the “highs” are not “4 degrees cooler than Hell.” But I digress.

Also, I dig my in-laws in a big way. They’re hilarious (sometimes even on purpose), and they’re generous. They genuinely want to help us in any way they can. In other words, they’re good people. Who are sick to death of sharing their home with a bunch of loudmouthed, obnoxious rats, no matter how charming we are or how much we clean.

So, yeah. Next Friday cannot get here fast enough, y’all. (And to give y’all a reason to get excited about next Friday – that’s when the t-shirts will get mailed out. Oh, see. Now you’re excited. Hookers.)

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