On hotel karma, writing, drowning, myths, lies, parenting and uncontrollable sh*t.
At school, I overheard them telling friends how we always get these big fancy suites because of dad’s medical condition, which he doesn’t really have. Then they giggle.
“My mom tells the them dad has a poop problem.”
The girls exchange looks.
“We don’t know.”
“He doesn’t though. She’s just weird.”
I’m always the weird parent in any scenario anywhere. Not odd, eccentric, interesting, just flat out weird. Their dad always comes out the victor in any story. If he accidentally burnt the house down, say during one of his manly BBQ’s that requires enough propane to blow up a small nation, they would somehow find a way to blame me, even if I was out of the country. They would also give him props and they’d make an event out of it.