flexagon | In-laws: a perspective in the second person

They come, they stay, they turn your showerhead the wrong way so that it sprays in your face when you turn it on, they take over your fridge and use your computer, they make your bathroom smell funny, they make you feel like you have to behave nicely at home, and finally one morning they move off down the street (carefully, like people in their 60s, but determinedly, like people who have traveled all over the world and been just fine, thanks).

The other thing they do, sometimes, is carefully gather up all their stuff except the bright yellow folder full of highly useful-looking New York maps (for that fine city is where they're going next), and you see this maybe 30 seconds after they've gone out of sight down the street. So, you must leap into your coat and your brand-new running shoes -- no time for socks -- and at this point it's a good thing that they walk slowly, because you catch them in two blocks. "Yoo-hoo! Crazy traveling people!" you gasp, but luckily all they see is the yellow folder. And then for a moment, you are sure that they actually love you.

* * *

I am not actually gracious like my father-in-law said at the time, only fast, but maybe fast is sometimes enough. So, all right, bye now, people, time for you and your maps to leave. Begone. Depart. Vamoose. Gimme my computer back.