dun, dun dun dun DUNNNNNNNNNNNN

I ruined some of my dad's pants tonight, and my mom slapped me.
A high five.
She hated those pants.

A few nights ago, when we were chillaxin in our disco lounge, which is cleverly disguised as our kitchen, she went to the living room #2 and retrieved an old heart shaped box. and then played some nirvana. while that was happening, the box got opened, to reveal a note, which read,

"Will you marry me? (Earl Swart)"

and the other side had two stick-figure, featureless heads inside a box. that was my parents, together for ever- or at least a pictoral representation of the same.

They've been together for 25.5 years, if you count marriage time, and 26.5, if you count actual time. Apparently marriage time is fake. And they're still crazy after all these years, eating chips and arguing about wool pants, occasionally taking cruises, drinking coffee like it's going out of style, and concealing junk food from each other.

I sit in the middle and in the background simultaneously, recording everything with muted keyboard strokes and surreptitious glances and sneaky chip stealing fingers.