wrote to Brynn. The only problem is that today is Sunday, and there are only five days before we leave on our family RV pilgrimage to Florida on Friday.
I donât want to go to Florida with no letter in hand. Actually, I donât want to go to Florida at all. But thatâs a different story.
Iâm going to put my trust in the only place I can think to put it: the United States Postal Service.
Monday, June 24, 4:45 P.M.
No mail from Brynn.
Tuesday, June 25, 4:53 P.M.
Whereâs my letter postmarked from Camp Silver Shores?
Wednesday, June 26, 4:59 P.M.
Standing outside by the mailbox
The postman just delivered our mail and there was NOTHING for me. Was it too much to ask that he deliver one little envelope with my name on it?
Iâm sure heâs a nice guy, but right now, the postman is not on my top-ten list.
Thursday, June 27, 5:18 P.M.
Good news: the mail arrived. Bad news: There was none for me.
No letter from Brynn, and Iâm leaving in the morning to go to Florida for two weeks. How am I supposed to enjoy my vacation when I have no idea what my friends are doing behind my back? How do I even know theyâre still my friends?
5:32 P.M.
My life continues to spiral downhill. Dad just drove into our driveway in an old, dilapidated camper. He calls it an RV. Iâm calling it the Clunker.
I canât believe he actually thinks this vehicle will make it to Florida and back.
5:44 P.M.
I donât think Dad thinks this vehicle will make it to Florida and back. I just heard him tell Mom it doesnât look anything like the picture on the Internet.
7:42 P.M.
Mom just told me to start packing.
Dad said weâre leaving at 4 A.M . When I asked him why we have to leave at 4 in the morning, he said, âTo get a jump on the day.â
I asked why we would want to get a jump on the day.
He said he shouldnât have to answer that question.
Translation: THERE IS NO ANSWER!
Remember. As far as anyone knows, weâre a nice normal family.
âHomer Simpson
Friday, June 28, 4:07 A.M.
Thatâs right, A.M.!
I fail to see the normalcy in anything my family does. Itâs 4:07 A.M. and weâre in the Clunker, hurtling toward Florida. Three cities. Fourteen days. Countless amusement parks.
I am not amused.
8:30 A.M.
Sitting at the table in a moving vehicle
Playing Go Fish with young children
Iâm pretty sure what Iâve endured for the last four and a half hours qualifies as kidnapping. Being forced into a vehicle against my will. Not allowed to exit. Made to play games well below my intellectual and emotional level. Only given doughnuts as nourishment.
If the United States Government really wanted to punish terrorists, theyâd round them up and make them come on this vacation with us. Not only would they have to deal with the intolerable conditions mentioned above, theyâd also have to endure Dadâs terrible driving. He says heâs just getting the feel of the thing. I say weâre one turn away from toppling over. Every time Dad goes left or right, all the cards go flying. Dad keeps making the same joke about playing fifty-two-card pickup. May and June think itâs hilarious. I donât see the humor in any of this.
We donât even get to stop and use the bathroom. WHY? Because the Clunker has its own bathroom! Dad says weâre only stopping for gas. He wants to make it to St Augustine by noon. And once we get there, guess what weâre doing. Parking the Clunker on a campsite for clunkers and sleeping in it.
Weâre stopping for gas soon. Iâm thinking of making a run for it.
9:16 A.M.
We just stopped for gas. I thought about running, but there was nowhere to go. As far as the eye could see, there were only trees and cows.
9:43 A.M.
Iâm bored.
Iâm sick of sitting at a table with my sisters, eating doughnuts, and playing Go Fish. Iâm going to go lie down in the bedroom, which is just a raised platform
I donât want to go to Florida with no letter in hand. Actually, I donât want to go to Florida at all. But thatâs a different story.
Iâm going to put my trust in the only place I can think to put it: the United States Postal Service.
Monday, June 24, 4:45 P.M.
No mail from Brynn.
Tuesday, June 25, 4:53 P.M.
Whereâs my letter postmarked from Camp Silver Shores?
Wednesday, June 26, 4:59 P.M.
Standing outside by the mailbox
The postman just delivered our mail and there was NOTHING for me. Was it too much to ask that he deliver one little envelope with my name on it?
Iâm sure heâs a nice guy, but right now, the postman is not on my top-ten list.
Thursday, June 27, 5:18 P.M.
Good news: the mail arrived. Bad news: There was none for me.
No letter from Brynn, and Iâm leaving in the morning to go to Florida for two weeks. How am I supposed to enjoy my vacation when I have no idea what my friends are doing behind my back? How do I even know theyâre still my friends?
5:32 P.M.
My life continues to spiral downhill. Dad just drove into our driveway in an old, dilapidated camper. He calls it an RV. Iâm calling it the Clunker.
I canât believe he actually thinks this vehicle will make it to Florida and back.
5:44 P.M.
I donât think Dad thinks this vehicle will make it to Florida and back. I just heard him tell Mom it doesnât look anything like the picture on the Internet.
7:42 P.M.
Mom just told me to start packing.
Dad said weâre leaving at 4 A.M . When I asked him why we have to leave at 4 in the morning, he said, âTo get a jump on the day.â
I asked why we would want to get a jump on the day.
He said he shouldnât have to answer that question.
Translation: THERE IS NO ANSWER!
Remember. As far as anyone knows, weâre a nice normal family.
âHomer Simpson
Friday, June 28, 4:07 A.M.
Thatâs right, A.M.!
I fail to see the normalcy in anything my family does. Itâs 4:07 A.M. and weâre in the Clunker, hurtling toward Florida. Three cities. Fourteen days. Countless amusement parks.
I am not amused.
8:30 A.M.
Sitting at the table in a moving vehicle
Playing Go Fish with young children
Iâm pretty sure what Iâve endured for the last four and a half hours qualifies as kidnapping. Being forced into a vehicle against my will. Not allowed to exit. Made to play games well below my intellectual and emotional level. Only given doughnuts as nourishment.
If the United States Government really wanted to punish terrorists, theyâd round them up and make them come on this vacation with us. Not only would they have to deal with the intolerable conditions mentioned above, theyâd also have to endure Dadâs terrible driving. He says heâs just getting the feel of the thing. I say weâre one turn away from toppling over. Every time Dad goes left or right, all the cards go flying. Dad keeps making the same joke about playing fifty-two-card pickup. May and June think itâs hilarious. I donât see the humor in any of this.
We donât even get to stop and use the bathroom. WHY? Because the Clunker has its own bathroom! Dad says weâre only stopping for gas. He wants to make it to St Augustine by noon. And once we get there, guess what weâre doing. Parking the Clunker on a campsite for clunkers and sleeping in it.
Weâre stopping for gas soon. Iâm thinking of making a run for it.
9:16 A.M.
We just stopped for gas. I thought about running, but there was nowhere to go. As far as the eye could see, there were only trees and cows.
9:43 A.M.
Iâm bored.
Iâm sick of sitting at a table with my sisters, eating doughnuts, and playing Go Fish. Iâm going to go lie down in the bedroom, which is just a raised platform
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