Dave and Marcia don't have a computer. Their crappy old Dell was fried during a thunderstorm and now they're trying to get it fixed.
They need to buy a new one (a new Mac, it should be) but they're extremely tight.
See, I can say things like that because they don't have a computer and won't be reading this.
In fact, I'm free to talk about a number of things now that I know they won't be reading this.
They were horrible parents.
It's true. Here's a partial list:
•They used to dress me up like a mime to collect change from people at the mall. When I couldn't do the trapped in an invisible box routine well enough they made me practice in a dryer at the laundromat for hours.
•Up to the time I left for school, I was in charge of bikini waxing each of them twice a month.
•At age six, I was the youngest Amway representative in the history of the organization. All of my earnings were used to finance my parents' brief but expensive descent into the world of Hummel collectibles.
•I was sent to camp when I was ten. It was a logging camp.
•I shared my room with borders my parents would take in from time-to-time. This is where I learned the term hobo was preferred over bum and how to relieve syphilis symptoms with a poultice of turpentine and coffee grounds.
•Instead of new school clothes each year we'd go shopping for a new respirator filter to wear down in the mine. The only reason I got a respirator was because the other miners grew tired of me hacking up great balls of black phlegm. They threatened my parents because of all the noise I was making.
•I survived on diet of equal parts Lipton Cup-a-Soup and potting soil until I was 17.
•When I was little they're favorite game to play with me was Hide and go find enough change to take the bus to get yourself back home in time to make your own damn dinner.
There's more. Much more. But I just looked up and saw one of Allie's dolls staring at me from a pile of her toys. This thing is really creeping me out.
Jesus! I think it just blinked!
I'm getting out of this basement.