After nearly two weeks with my family, I need a vacation. I don't care where it is--Florida, the Outer Banks of North Carolina, the Bahamas, Siberia, you name it--so long as my family is several hundred miles away. My mom was in a bad mood 95 percent of the time that I was home because of my sister. My sister...well, she was my sister. If I say much more, I'm going to start cussing and never stop, so I'll just leave it at that. My grandmother is still a nearly 80-year-old clueless blonde who expects the world to wait on her hand and foot. She's basically my sister 50 years from now. My nephew was like that little guy who used to bounce around the room in those Domino's or Little Caesar's commercials back in the 90s--cute and funny for about five minutes, and then you just wanted to strangle him. My sister's dogs...well, they're her dogs, so again I'm going to shut up before the swearing begins.I am so glad to be back home where everything is clean and quiet for the time being, where the bed linens haven't been peed on by a miniature dachshund that is long past due for a neutering, where I don't trip over my sister's boxes of unpacked junk in the middle of the night, where I don't have to spend 30 minutes every night trying to find where someone threw my dental floss in the bathroom, where the hot water heater actually produces more than three minutes of hot water (you don't even want to see the hair on my legs right now), and where all the remotes contain batteries that actually work. Seriously, how hard is it to go the dollar store and buy a $1 package of batteries? Not too hard, and yet every remote in my mom's house is missing both the batteries and the little plastic thing that keeps them in the remote.
Okay, forget Florida and the Outer Banks. Forget even the Bahamas. Seeing as I have to go back to my mom's house in two weeks, I'm considering home my favorite vacation spot. I'm so happy I'm even singing. "Holiday ro-o-o-oad...holiday road..."
