Revolving Door

I can only imagine the thoughts that go through the mind of my parents.  It seems like there is a new girl every other day that walks from the backdoor through the kitchen into the hallway that connects to my room.  I can recall a time when it was three different chicks in three different nights.  A few times there were multiple chicks per day.

It’s always the same too.  I know they’re coming in, so I walk out the backdoor to meet them outside.  We walk in, always me first, then when my parents look over to notice a stranger in their house, they usually say hello.  That’s when I do the habitual introductions of the whore to the parents and vice versa.  My parents have to know what I do.  I mean, the girls never leave until the next day, they’re very rarely ever seen in my house again and I never mention them ever again.  It was a lot less awkward when I lived in my apartment in Los Angeles.  My roommate never took his eyes off the T.V. or his mouth off the bong long enough to even notice a girl walk through the living room.  In terms of my parents, I guess it’s just one of those things that are better left unsaid.


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