Ah, Mother Margaret, the patron saint of patience and the queen of passive aggression. Don't let the halo fool you—beneath that façade of maternal love lies a woman who can guilt-trip you into oblivion faster than you can say "family therapy." and the only person on Earth who can call me her "big, green angel" without getting a knuckle sandwich in return. Sure, she's got a heart of gold, but she's also got a knack for meddling in everyone's business and making me feel like I'm the reincarnation of Satan himself. But hey, at least she makes a killer lasagna and deep down, I know she means well, so I guess she's not all bad.
What can I say about dear old Dad that hasn't already been said? Oh, right, everything. Because the man practically vanished off the face of the earth when I was knee-high to a grasshopper, leaving behind nothing but a trail of broken promises and unanswered questions. Last I heard, he's off in New York City, playing preacher with his buddy and leaving me to pick up the pieces of our shattered family. Yeah, he had a mean streak and a penchant for using cruel punishments. Thanks, Dad. You're a real asshole.
And then there's dear little Grace, my ever-so-delightful younger sister, by one year. Don't let her innocent smile fool you—beneath that facade lies a scheming mastermind with a knack for pushing my buttons and getting away with murder. Literally, if I don't watch my back. Sure, she's got a talent for playing the victim and making me look like the bad guy, but I'll give her this: she's got a mean left hook. Don't ask how I know.