Intro my parents

By Tiber

My brothers and sisters and I are a little surprised that our parents ever got together in the first place. Our father, Jack, likes to grab life in a headlock and bear hug it while, Gwen, our mother, tends to sense it coming as if she’s an over-caffeinated prairie dog and flee. They do meet in the middle sometimes, though. They have six kids.

One of the things that attracted them to each other is that Dad’s middle name is Arthur and Mom’s full name is Guinevere.

“Isn’t that romantic?,” they always ask.

Well, I always read where Guinevere ended up alone and in a nunnery and Arthur ended up cuckolded and dead, so I’d have to say, actually, no, not so much.

Anyway, as previously stated, my father inherited this big estate and house from his father and he’s always striding around it like President Theodore Roosevelt (who I always imagine striding everywhere, followed by dogs). Both men’s arrivals are heralded by non-stop barking and sometimes, the dogs make noise too.

Never having had a job beyond overseeing the property, Dad has what he terms  his own “weighty projects.” He justifies these insane hobbies, sorry, “weighty projects” by insisting that one day, they’ll make us a lot of money. I’ve always had my doubts. But considering Dad’s now possible economic slump, maybe I’d better shelve those.

One of his projects is the “Mall of Mars.” Dad feels, not completely unreasonably, that no matter which political party is in power, we’re all doomed and will have to flee the planet. And what will everyone want to do as soon as we’re resettled? Eat and shop! Hence the “Mall of Mars.”

There are still a few details to work out, as you may have guessed, but plans are being drawn up. So if you’re on that last space ship out of here as the earth crumbles behind you, you can thank Dad. He may have done nothing to prevent the earth from blowing up but at least he made sure that you’ll still have a McDonald’s.

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