Report from a Boomer Backwater
The number of relatives I can count on seeing on special occasions has dwindled as family members have died off or drifted apart, and my principal connection now is a rustic libtard Boomer aunt who lives with her husband, a dog, and sixteen cats on an unmarked road in a nowhere-town several hours from where I live. I recently visited her home for the first time – family gatherings always having taken place at my late grandmother’s house until now – and it was a nightmare. I expected the home to be messy and figured it would have an odor, but I was unprepared for what awaited me. The cat-stench hit first, so acrid I could feel my body being polluted just by breathing the air. Then there were the floors, so thoroughly smutty and encrusted with filth and hair that there was no decent place to walk. Flies were in every room, and cats had the prancing run of the house, putting their asses on everything. I could see hair on my backpack almost as soon as I set it down on the “clean” sheet