Your parents keep calling. They want you home, they want you to dog-sit. They want to see your glowing face, they want to take you to brunch. They want the ‘you’ they sent away, and it’s your job to keep up the charade. Your parents don’t need to smell your smoke-soaked jeans, they don’t need to see those bruises, and god knows they don’t need to know what those antibiotics are for. And really, you’re home to relax, not to make up stories. Don’t knock yourself out; it’ll be hard enough getting to bed before they come down for breakfast.

Tomorrow’s Forecast: Give ’em an easy target, some distraction to talk about. No one cares about that peek of tattoo with a puppy in their arms.