The last two days at my campsite were like a bad high school production of Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf reimagined with stupid people and children.
Mom, a 40ish heavily made up curvy big haired brunette with a nasally Chicago accent and a red solo cup permanently glued into her hand, sashayed over to say hello. She let me know that they will be the fun neighbors and I can join them, eat with them and just have a good ol’ time.
Dad, who I must admit is sexy in that stupid ex-high school football hero kind of way, kept asking me if I want to eat his sausage.
Then there were the two preteen boys who were extremely helpful and nice, the result of years of trying to keep the peace and not cause any trouble. When one of the boys saw I was struggling to open my beer, he sprinted over with a bottle opener and corkscrew. Children of alcoholics are handy during cocktail hour and parties.
Because of the Chicago connection the conversation got around to Obama. As soon as she heard Obama’s name, she smiled and said he’s never really worked. I asked her to explain herself. “He’s never really had a job. What has he done?”
I reminded her that he was HER junior senator for a few years and before that a public advocate/community leader.
Then she said that Michelle Obama is a bitch. Her friend just met her and she wasn’t very nice. I asked her to describe the meeting. Turns out the friend was just in a line for some hand shaking and she met Michelle Obama for two seconds.
Drunk mom is a flight attendant. I reminded her that not everybody understands how much is involved with everyone else’s career. For example, some people think being a flight attendant is being a flying waitress who is certified in CPR.
Things devolved from there. While making my fire, dumb dad came over to sell some weed. “Don’t get me wrong, we’re not drug dealers. I don’t want you to think we’re those type of people but this brick of dope literally fell into my lap.”
No thanks, I’m good.
Funny but not horrible. Horrible was about to happen.
In the dark I could make out the bright red solo cup and pale midwestern thighs jerking towards me. “I can’t believe you’ve been traveling alone this long. You must get lonely. When was the last time you were with a woman?”
1992, bitch.
She wasn’t going to give up. “A lots changed since then. How can you be sure you’re really gay?”
Go away.
That’s when the husband came over and told her to leave me alone. “I’m sorry, she does this every time she gets drunk.”
I’m guessing that is three times a day.
Then, to my horror, the children started yelling for their mom to get back and to stop embarrassing them.
A half hour later, dumb dad and the 10-year-old were having a private conversation five feet away from me. The boy asked his father why won’t he leave mom. Dumb dad said he could never leave her, he would have to kill her before he ever left her.
I began to think they were fucking with me, nobody could be this dysfunctional.
Luckily new neighbors showed up with children and an infant and distracted drunk mom from trying to snatch my adult heterosexual sex virginity.
It was hard to watch the mother of the baby refuse drunk mom’s attempts to hold the tiny infant. “I’m not too drunk that I can’t hold your baby! I was drunker then this when I would hold my own children. You don’t have to be special to hold a baby, anyone can do it!”
Because both of drunk moms’ boys were mortified, they asked dumb dad if they could go home. He told them to stop being so gay.
If my cell phone worked, I would’ve called CPS right then. But it didn’t so I went to Plan B and plotted to sprinkle the family’s campsite with raw meat. I figured it would be much better for the boys if they were snatched and raised by wolves.

Photo credit: Broadway Tour / Foter / CC BY-SA