Lewis looked at me like I was mildly nuts while I sat there, my jaw hanging down. Who knows-- maybe I'm overreacting. I'm not sure.

If it bothered you, there was probably good reason to be bothered.

Teppy, other people have already made a bunch of sensible and constructive suggestions for how you might be able to spread the burden about, since it sounds like your dad's going to be pretty intransigent. Whichever of those sounds most doable to you, go with that.

Meanwhile, I suggest that you go out and buy yourself a set of plates (maybe second hand ones) or cups or other kind of crockery, ritually allot them names "Bloody", "Motherfucking", "Cocksucking", "Hell" etc, and keep them to hand. In fact, fuck it, smash one of them now, just because you can. And the next time he pulls this shit - because, alas, it is clear that there will be a next time - before you have to pull on your big girl panties and do all that grown up crap which shouldn't just be falling on you alone, go get something and smash the fucking hell out of it, and shout at the top of your lungs, and jump up and down on the pieces*, and generally let yourself be as angry as a fucking angry thing that's just graduated from David Banner's Anger Management Course entitled Hulk: Smash.

Because you are absolutely allowed to be furious, and you know you can't smack him upside the head.

If pouring a large stiff drink would also help at this juncture (hey, you could have smashable glasses for that very purpose, to combine the alcohol with the ritual breaking!) then go right ahead.

And then go phone someone, so that EVERYONE knows what's going on, and so that the burden is getting spread out among all the people who care about him, and not just focused on one of them. (And, yeah, I think you need to get the phone numbers of his friends so that you're empowered and not stuck in this frustrating position.)

The swearing is not optional. I find that swearing loudly like a premenstrual navvy who's just stubbed her toe and then stood on a rake and been smashed in the face is very cathartic. Although preferably not whilst teaching seven year olds.

*ensure that you are adequately shod before following this step. Unless you're aiming to incapacitate yourself as a sneaky way of being unable to drive.

::loves on Fay::

No, I am not really here. I'm fleeing back to bed even as you read this. You never saw me.

::pointing to what Fay wrote:: Fay is wise and deserving of wonderous gifts to be showered upon her.

What Bev and GG said.

Fay is indeed wise.

I haven't seen the commercial, Barb. It is most likely offensive. People are always mentioning commercials I haven't seen. Even if I am watching live TV I just don't seem to notice them. Could be that I am up and doing other stuff the moment they come on, or I am focused on my laptop during commercials. This probably helps my sanity.

Meanwhile, I suggest that you go out and buy yourself a set of plates (maybe second hand ones) or cups or other kind of crockery, ritually allot them names "Bloody", "Motherfucking", "Cocksucking", "Hell" etc, and keep them to hand. In fact, fuck it, smash one of them now, just because you can. And the next time he pulls this shit - because, alas, it is clear that there will be a next time - before you have to pull on your big girl panties and do all that grown up crap which shouldn't just be falling on you alone, go get something and smash the fucking hell out of it, and shout at the top of your lungs, and jump up and down on the pieces*, and generally let yourself be as angry as a fucking angry thing that's just graduated from David Banner's Anger Management Course entitled Hulk: Smash.

This was my mother's way of getting new dishes at our house. She would wait until a real big argument and start throwing plates, etc., managing to "somehow" miss family members.

Being that mom and dad raised a group of strong-willed individuals, by the time the 7th child (me) reached teenage status, she had moved on to semi-unbreakable Corelle ware.

This is a TOTALLY ridiculous expenditure, but I am seriously considering buying these for my big Thanksgiving dinner (I am hosting my parents and CBD's family): [link] They're just so cute!

Kind of expensive, but oh so cute! I want the pie charm one.

They are cute, vw.

Today's breakfast: slow-cooked barbecue brisket served on Sara Lee lite bread that I'm pretending was Texas toast.

Daniel's brilliant. Perhaps you already knew that. But his idea was to get a brisket, put it in a slow oven all night, and let the heat warm the house - brought the temperature up to 68 degrees Farenheit. Who needs a furnace, baby.

Not only is my nose not numb from cold, but we have some darn good meat in the house.