Yesterday we were visiting with one of the better-half’s aunts. She’s the bestest aunt in his large circle of aunts.
A couple stopped by the aunt’s house to show off a picture that a student at the woman’s school had taken at a cemetery. The couple lives in Albany and is the daughter and son-in-law of the aunt’s best friend (she may also be distantly related but some of the familial connections confuse me and this story is already too confusing for me to try to sort that detail out).
I can say I’ve never laid eyes on these people and the better-half couldn’t remember their names 15 minutes after we left so he clearly has no attachment to them. They are older than we are and it was apparent from the second they walked in that they are a bit crunchy. Crunchy works for me (I’m wearing a pair of socks with Birkenstock right now and I make my own granola).
What doesn’t work for me are people I’ve never met leading off with a story that is clearly meant to provoke a response from me. Although it is obvious that any children they have must be at least teenagers by now, they led off with the story of home birthing and burying placentas. Yippeefuckingskippee for you.
Reason #451 that the better-half is meant for me: He followed up that “revelation” with how kids these days just don’t get the importance of burying placentas like they did back in the day.