What you should take away from this is that you’re following the blog of a hamster killer.

My grandmother is trying to set me up with her neighbor’s son. Tomorrow we might be giving him a ride back to his college, which is about an hour away from mine. So her idea of setting us up is to force us to share car space for two hours.

I’m not sure if this has promise. He was at my grandfather’s retirement party last night, and he has already witnessed me a) ravenously eating a cupcake with my grandpa’s face on it, and b) chucking golf balls at children. (This wasn’t entirely intentional, but from an observer’s standpoint I can see how it could be misconstrued.) Not only that, but when I arrived at the party I entered through the back door. The wind took the door and it flew back against the wall with an almighty bang, snow blowing every which way, while I struggled to pull it closed and yelled, “EVERYONE TAKE COVER.” At which point I was introduced to him and his parents by my face-palming grandmother who was clearly already wondering if this relationship could take off.

It wouldn’t be a true family gathering without offensive jokes, an age-old argument, and startling revelations. I fulfilled the third when I mentioned casually that I was pretty sure I had killed our second hamster, which prompted my mom to stare at me in slack-jawed alarm.

“You what?”

“Well, not on purpose!” I defended myself. “Who knew that hamsters dehydrate really easily? Well, actually, I knew that. But still. I never knew for sure, but didn’t anybody else wonder why he died so young?”

She just said, “Oh my God.”

But I paid for it dearly. To this day I sit up suddenly in bed thinking I forgot to feed the hamster.


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