I Have a Plan

My parents are coming to visit! I love when they come down from the frozen North to see me and Beloved Spouse and Big Sister and our respective kiddoes. The voices in my head, however, are another matter.


Did you doubt for a minute that I had voices in my head?

 The voices are in overdrive right now. They're saying terrible things. Untrue things, born of unrealistic expectations and unresolved issues.

Or are they?

See what they do? They do this every time I see my parents. Because they never achieved puberty, or else they're just litle shits. Not my parents, the voices. I have to beat them back with a stick sometimes. Which is painful to the skull, but probably amusing to watch.

Here's some of the other smack the voices are talking right now:

Your house isn't clean enough.
Precocious Daughter isn't well-behaved enough.
You're not successful enough.
Beloved Spouse isn't successful enough.
That missing piece of tile on the kitchen backsplash means you're a failure.
The front lawn is an inch too long.
The back lawn is a testament to - what's that word again? - oh yeah, failure.
You're fat.

Your furniture is ugly.
Every speck of dust in the living room condemns you.
God, who picked out that paint color?
Paul McCartney will never marry you.
You're dumb and you like dumb things.
You are unlike good people in all you do.
Surrender, Dorothy.

Really? Ugh. I'm not saying that some of these things aren't true - not the part about Paul McCartney, though, I'm totally working on that. And my parents may actually think some of these things (it's entirely possible they don't dig our red-pink-and-teal kitchen as much as I do). What I'm saying is that the voices need to shut the hell up because they're pissing me off and making me feel 12.

But I have a plan.

When Mom and Dad come over, I'm going to give each of them a big hug and a kiss. Then I'm going to hand my dad a drink and my mom some new pictures of her granddaughter, and they won't notice that the cat's vomit is more powerful than my ability to clean it out of the carpet.

And then I'm going to pour myself a drink. Or more than one. As many as it takes to get the voices in my head to start singing barbershop harmony instead of jacking with my psyche. So I can enjoy my parents' visit.

I'd rather have them think I'm a lush than tell me I'm a bad housekeeper.

Your bathtub has an unsightly ring.

STFU up and drink this.