Phamily Stuph

I’m 46 years old.  I’m the youngest of four siblings who have long since scattered to the winds of geographic endeavors (they met someone or a chased a job).  We are five years apart, so we’re generationally challenged also.  We have little in common besides a shared last name.  I can speak freely here because nobody in my family reads my blog anyway, even when I’ve asked them to or emailed them a link.  Eh.  Feh.

I have a “cousin Dave” whom I’ve never in my life met.  He’s 65 and lives on the west coast.  I live on the East coast.  As an example of just how disconnected and unfamiliar we are with each other, this is a sample conversation that is usually repeated every Thanksgiving:

Sibling: “So, cousin Dave is moving to Thailand. He’s a big guy, so he’ll stand out there.  You know how big and tall he is.” with a nod of affirmation (you know that “you know what I’m talking about, don’t you!” confident look).

Moi: “Nope.  Never met him.”

“You’ve NEVER MET COUSIN DAVE BEFORE?!?!?!?!”

“No.  Just like I fucking told you every fucking year since you first asked me in 1842.”

I’m thinking about walking in the door of my sister’s house this Thanksgiving and making my first statement: “No, I never met cousin Dave before!  Now STFU and let’s eat!”