January 8, 2010


I drove halfway across the country as fast as possible with Willa in the backseat. My parents came, too. There were no major events worth reporting, except for some wonderful things my Mom said:

Mom [pretending to read from the Triple-A travel guide*]: Oh look, it says here Fort Stockton is a shithole. Population 7,526.

Dad [flipping channels on their hotel-room television]: The Sound of Music is on.
Mom: I hate that movie, it's so cheesy.
Me: You hate The Sound of Music?! You can't hate The Sound of Music, it means you have no soul. Or a black, black heart.
Mom: Oh, tell me you don't want to shoot yourself when that head nun starts singing, "Climb Every Mountain."

* Go to Triple A and ask them to make a little spiral-bound map of your route next time you take a long car trip. It includes information about every city you pass through, including hotels and restaurants. And for the record, Triple A didn't really call Fort Stockton a shithole. It's a lovely place where some of the hotels have jets in the bathtub, and for this I am eternally grateful.

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