“Well honey…I’m gonna have a fling. It’s what you get for spending so much time with that hoe.”
My mother goes outside cackling with glee and flings broccoli at the bushes beyond the walls. She just found out yesterday that my father used a hoe, and not his bare hands, to uproot all the thistle bushes on our parcel of land, and she is mock-angry.
My father sits placidly with his laptop on his chest, fuming at the wind, which is making everyone a little crazier than usual.
This is my family. I do not know how else to explain them.