So I got home like an hour ago.
So there might be a bit of vodka already flowing.
On an otherwise empty stomach.
How it went: I arrived, I performed, I left. I was charming. I was funny. I engaged. I asked many questions. (This indicates caring.)
One Story:
I am in the kitchen. I am making my breakfast on the stove. I am having: black beans, an egg, veggies, cucumber, and an orange. Lemon, mustard ... the usual pornography. My father, Brother Number 2, and his wife are there. At the stove I am facing them and they me, on their stools opposite. They are watching me like an unusual circus act.
My sister-in-law tells me about her mother's recipe: make grits, let them congeal, slice them, bread them, fry them, pour syrup on them and eat them. She says she buys Brother Number 2 sugar-free syrup now because he's diabetic. I think, Real syrup doesn't actually have sugar in it.
After that, Brother Number 2 starts comparing with my father the amount of medications he takes. "I take twelve a day," boasts BN2. "I only take nine," concedes my father.
After the Med-Off, again my father wants to know how it came to be that I eat so oddly. "I mean who taught you to eat like this?"
I take zero medications.