Before I explain this picture, a bit of background:
I've returned to the roost a couple of times. It's no biggie. One key difference between then and now: I know how to read the signs around me. For example, if the Supreme Court (either California's version or the Federal one) overturns a law as unconstitutional, therefore granting gays and lesbians more rights (as it should be), I know my Dad will be particularly cranky throughout the day. If a Catholic Archbishop or Deacon or Priest advocates for any cause remotely "liberal" then I know to eat early so as to avoid the anticipated rant about the socialization and liberalization of the Church at dinner.
My parents know where I stand on the political spectrum (pretty fucking far from my Dad, and slightly closer to my Mom) so direct discussions about hot topics like the Obama's Stimulus Plan, Obama's "true" nationality, Obama's "true" religion, and abortion (especially) are generally avoided because the outcome of that kind of conversation leaves everyone totally pissed. This is, after all, a bad way to end Thanksgiving dinner -- even if there is another unopened bottle of wine.
Therefore, when my Mom wants to deliver a message she believes is important for me to hear (or read) she has a knack for leaving books open at particular passages or newspaper articles near my water glass or bottle of Milk Thistle. Usually these articles/books involve the satanic ways of abortion and the sinful promiscuity that leads to it. Not that they have any clue about that area of my life - not that they ask - and not that I'll tell without the extreme of torture.
Today's article was interesting enough, very informative, and there were no pictures of mangled fetuses. And it proves they have high hopes someday I will depart the roost, and that I'm not their loser daughter re-hitched to apron strings and my Dad's generous gas card. At least I don't get shit (or articles) about getting married.
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