Define “buzzkill.”

I became an aunt yesterday. I wish I could say I’m excited but it’s hard to feel good about my brother being a father. He’s just so fucked up. I make light of the situation by thinking of it like an experiment: which is stronger, nature or nurture? Will two douche bags raise a douche bag?

I hope one day I look back on this and can’t imagine that my brother actually didn’t talk to me for going-on twelve years. I hope that one day we’re sitting around feeling good about ourselves and reminiscing about the past and I tell him he can be such a prick sometimes and we laugh. (Because it’s true.) I hope he doesn’t start talking to me again over one of our parents’ deathbed and I’ve gotten so bitter and have stopped being The Bigger Person so many years ago that I turn to him and tell him he’s such a piss fucking poor excuse for a son and why didn’t Dad pull out? He would’ve spared every other member of our family so much hurt.


That came out… different than I expected. I’m going to post it though, because it’s honest and apparently it had to be said.


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