My parents will be in Baltimore in about a month to pick up their Nazi sled (the BMW) from the harbor.
They’re already asking me questions about my life here. I mean, that’s not a bad thing; they’re my parents and naturally they’re curious as to whether their youngest and only daughter is doing well. But their questioning is starting to veer towards my friends.
I’ll be the first to admit that some of the company I keep aren’t exactly the type you bring over for dinner.
I don’t think I have a single friend my mother hasn’t complained about. I dunno; maybe I’m bad at choosing friends. Or maybe she’s hyper-judgmental. Who fuckin’ knows?
To be frank, I don’t even know why my parents are asking questions. Pops is a retired special agent who can find shit out about anyone. No joke. I shit you not. I’m as serious as a heart attack. I’m pretty sure he’s done it before or has called an old friend for a favor. I’m also certain he has a dossier on everyone who has piqued his interest. I mean, shit, I saw the info he collected on someone already. I hope that sates his curiosity and he doesn’t pay anyone a visit.
That could be REALLY fuckin’ awkward.