|Don't deal drugs, kids. Or live near people who do.|
My parents? Are scheduled to arrive for a visit tomorrow. Their timing, as usual, is impeccable. It's like they have a nose for this kind of thing. I'm sure they'll be totally calm and understanding about it, if by "calm" you mean "the opposite of calm" and by "understanding" you mean "they will never, ever let me hear the end of it."
"You're going to get shot," my dad dourly predicted last summer in an effort to dissuade me from moving to the city. So you can see why it is of the utmost importance that they never, ever find out about this. Good lord. I need excuses, people. Do I let them come and try to explain it away, somehow? My friend Stephen says to tell them it's from a baseball. (A baseball?) Do I suddenly become too sick for a visit? My sister says no, they are really looking forward to coming, and it will be fine. Fine, she says! You don't give them enough credit, she says! (I know what's really going on here, which is that she wants the house to herself for a few hours, and so I don't know if she can be trusted.)
Internet, what would you do?