​​​​​​Because humor is funnier when you know it's true.

Key West is never the right answer (continued)

“It’s okay, dear,” my mom said. “I’m sure we’ll finish them.”

Dad rolled his eyes and continued to grumble. We let him, because that’s what we do, and paid for the ice milk.

Some three hours after the end of the river cruise, and only a little bit after dark, we arrived home. My mother began scooping the second-cheapest vanilla ice milk in the store into bowls. The rest of the party, however, broke up. My younger nephew needed a diaper change, and my brother had never greeted soiled undergarments with such aplomb. The older nephew, having been far too patient for far too long, needed to make some noise with his toy cars, and his mother enthusiastically shepherded him into the bedroom where they could create noise without distracting others. My father needed to use the toilet and took with him a thick book to examine about World War II airplanes. He would be a while.

I was the only one not wise enough to have an immediate escape planned. My mom delivered six bowls to the table, and said brightly, “I guess you’re just going to have to eat them all!”

Then her expression changed: She was not joking. The trouble she had gone to in acquiring the second-cheapest vanilla ice milk in the store demanded a certain amount of enjoyment, and that amount would be inflicted by any means necessary.

“What about you?” I asked.

Her face softened once more, into a vicious kindness. “Oh, goodness,” she replied. “I’m not even hungry.”

-Greg Landgraf

Greg has written for a variety of obscure trade magazines on topics such as cabinet-making, metalworking, libraries, civil engineering, and minor-league renaissance faires. He currently writes Free in the Break Room, which shares (fictional) stories about the (real) things left in his office's break room. He currently lives in Ohio, for some reason. Follow him on Twitter.