It's Where the Strangers Are

As I'm about to turn into my driveway tonight, Father tells me to watch out for the other cars in the driveway, as there are quite a few. Why? I ask. Why are there cars here and whose cars are they? Oh, it's just that Mother has about ten people over, that's all. It's a farewell dinner for a family I'd never met. I don't mind the guests much but you see, some of them have reproduced and have children. Children not of the adorable bumbling variety, but school age ones that shriek and tell each other boring stories and try to sound grown-up by commenting that she is watching her favorite show and that "nothing good is on" when I could see that clearly, baby girl, you have landed on the Spanish channel by chance and really have no idea what's going on, children that answer the door to my house shouting "Do I know you?! Do I know you!?" at my guests. And the saddest thing of all? She actually knows them better than I do.