I frequently joke that my parents adopted me because I look like my dad. Anybody who has seen pictures of my dad can tell you that the fruit (pardon the pun) doesn’t fall far from the tree.
My mom’s side of the family just might be a different story. My grandmother is getting old. Her mental faculties could be questioned. She is convinced that my mom’s brother is mentally ill. Want to know something? The old biddie is on to something.
The guy has had four jobs over the course of two years. He’s a truck driver. His last company fired him because he refused to drive to Long Island. His excuse was that he didn’t want to drive through New York City. If you’re a truck driver on the east coast, you have to drive through New York once in a while. Suck it up. There is a reason it’s called work, you know. There are parts of my job that I hate doing, but they get done because it’s part of the job. If I don’t do it, I’m not employed. This should be a fairly simple concept.
Nobody can seem to recall the last time he showered or washed his hair. I just can’t fathom this. My grandmother said that he got absolutely furious when she suggested the he get a haircut.
I didn’t see my mom’s brother on this trip, and it’s probably best. I’m the asshole who doesn’t have the tact to keep his mouth shut. I would have told this loser that his ass stinks and that it’s his own fucking fault that he can’t seem to hold down a job. The man is 50 years old, has no real expenses, lives with my grandmother who is on social security, and his truck was recently repossessed. Again, my financial house isn’t rock solid, but I’m surviving. What the fuck?
Am I genetic defect for not wanting to be related to some of these people?