My one reader (Hi, Ana!) called me out a few days ago to de-lurk and talk about my little vacation in Ohio, so I shall happily oblige. But only because I want to keep my one reader, because without her I would be the only person who reads my ramblings, and while there are worse scenarios, it helps to have a reference to attest to the fact that my writing is to a degree somewhat entertaining (occasionally) rather than having to shamefully promote my writing as a work of complete & utter genius myself.

That being said, in case Ana fails to come through for me – I am a literary marvel. Hear me roar. Meow.

Ohio. Right. It was pretty darn fun. I got to meet more of Steve’s family, whom I was warned was a very odd bunch. I, however, found nothing odd about them. I’m sure there’s probably something to be inferred about me because of that, but I’m perfectly content with telling myself there’s not. Because I’m perfectly, 100% normal.

We went to the beach every day. That made me happy, because I just recently discovered the wonder that are beaches. I applied  SPF 50 to my ridiculously white skin like it was liquid gold, and frequently at that. I still burned. Badly. But it’s OK because, those sunburns? Turned into normal-coloured Caucasian skin. Oooh yeah.

Anyway, Steve’s little cousins are fun. The girls pretty much stuck together most of the time and did their own thing, so I didn’t get to spend too much time with them. The 3-year-old is the most calm, well-behaved toddler ever, what with his being quiet and his nodding in agreement to absolutely everything and his, “Ok!” So, I was pretty sure the kid was a cyborg. Until he fell down and cried like a normal child. Then I could enjoy his cuteness without fear or suspicion. Who knew a 3-year-old saying “Choo-choo!” and “Echo! Echo!” repeatedly could be more entertaining than making faces in a mirror? Steve’s 7-year-old cousin was loads of fun, too. Although, their blood relationship eludes me. Steve is lily white and his cousin is practically black. Watching them play together in the lake was fun, purely because of the difference in skin colour. At one point the 7-year-old asked me how old I was. I looked at him and asked him how old he was, to which he replied, “7 and a half.” Then I said, “I’m 19 and a half.” He then stood staring from Steve to me for a few moments doing the math in his head, then looked at Steve: “Steven!” Yup. Even a 7-year-old thinks Steve is a cradle robber. But he walked away learning a very important lesson which he would use to his benefit the entire rest of the vacation while he flirted with me and tried to steal me from Steve: age doesn’t matter… much. Apparently he felt his age was better suited to mine. Though, truthfully, watching the two of them playing, I couldn’t tell much of a difference between 25 and 7, except that the number 7 seemed to be powered by Energizer.