I expect to find an empty house when I pull up at my childhood home, but the driveway is lined with trucks. Great. I quickly debate if I want to reverse and get the hell out of here, but my dad steps out of the house and waves as though he was expecting me.
I park the truck in a spot that should stay clear for me to make an exit should I need to.
“Adam, how are things?” my dad asks, leaning along the railing of the porch.
“What are you doing here?”
“Well, Marla felt you guys live in filth, so she decided today is spring cleaning day.”
I turn around to go back to my truck. Last time it was spring cleaning day, I ended up sorer than when I hike five miles. The woman doesn’t stop until every dust bunny is dead. I’m not even sure why she goes to so much effort. We’re all bachelors here, n
