This is my sister eating a ridiculously huge slice of pizza over the summer. We went to Papalino’s for dinner with my dad and had a laugh as per usual, all the while infusing the lighthearted evening with intellectual and often times satirical observations on life, flower boxes, and the absurdness of modernity. We found excessive amusement in a passing pedestrian who, frazzled and red from rigorous exercise, was sporting holed black dress socks protruding stupidly from her New Balance sneakers, a sweaty aerobic jumpsuit she must have stolen from a Buns of Steel set and, the cherry, a Marlboro hanging cinematically from her cracked lips. Gold.
I really like my family. And I know how lucky I am to be able to say that. Our dynamic is that of chaotic fluidity; we’re all certifiably insane, and we fight like the Osbournes, but they’re mine and they’re literally the most fantastic people ever. We’ll fly and fall and feud, but we’ll do it necessarily and we’ll do it knowing we’re but tenacious parts of an unyielding and allegiant whole.