I like Monday.

Today, I like other people’s family members. And the fact that they aren’t my family members.

L begged me to go to dinner with her and her sister-in-law. She even said she’d buy, and at a fancypants restaurant, too.

Actually, her exact words were, “It’s going to be awful and I’d rather die. Puhleez go with me! I’ll buy you dinner!”

Because I have no groceries and I like a good car wreck, I agreed.

L’s sister-in-law was nice enough – but hot damn, she thinks she is damn interesting. We heard all about how her financial advisor said she could get $2K a month just from interest on her investments. And all about how she just sold her house. And her company. And the office building she bought for $480K but was happy to unload for only $400K.

L and I are both from small towns in the Midwest. We do not talk numbers. Ever. It’s unneighborly.

And so when, after two glasses of wine, her sister-in-law started in on how the builder had to buy her house back due to faulty construction and how her former neighbors report to her on a daily basis about the Mexican day laborers who come in and work to repair the foundation, well, I had an epiphany.

Two, actually.

1. There are relatives worse than my Aunt TalBot.

2. I should be thankful that the unending and very detailed descriptions flowing from the sister-in-law’s mouth were about real estate and not, oh, say, gynecological problems.

So much to be thankful for. I’m living the American dream, people.

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