If you live with someone long enough, you automatically get in-laws

… except without the legal bit.

I had a conversation with my mom this past week during which we were trying to schedule some family activities that are in the works for this summer. She wanted to schedule plans with us two weekends in a row. I said that was fine.

Mom: “Will Kass (Roomie) come too?”

Me: “Umm, I’ll ask. She’ll probably come one weekend. She might not want to be visiting out of town for two weekends in a row though.”

Mom: “But it’s her family. We’re doing FAMILY things.”

Me: “… you do realize she’s not ACTUALLY related to us, right?”

It’s okay though. We’re in Philadelphia at Roomie’s parents’ house this weekend helping them move–an activity I hate less than most people, because it actually puts all my crossfitting to good use–and I keep doing the college-student thing that I usually reserve for my own parents: “Are you keeping this (insert whatever object I want)? Can I have it??” 

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