My bride-to-be Arianna wants to meet my parents.
They live in a trailer. Dad thinks Playboy T-shirts are classy because the naked women are silhouettes. Mom has a tattoo of a dog humping a palm tree. I don’t think either one has said a sentence without an f-bomb since 1985.
I changed my name a long time ago. Started a new life with a clean slate and never looked back.
I don’t know how to mend that bridge.
Or why there’s a pig-on-a-spit at their surprise engagement party.
Or how Arianna and I ended up wearing matching “Ball and Chain” bride and groom shirts.
But you don’t get to choose your parents.
And in my family, crazy is definitely relative.