Yeah, I'm pulling the child of divorce card

Remember this? Scratch that.

This isn't my first apartment, even though everyone is acting like it is. This isn't even my second or third place. It's not the first apartment I've had by myself either. This is nothing new to me. With the exception of the last 5 months, this is what I've been used to for the last 6 years.

My parents keep calling me. All. The. Time. I'm getting twice as many calls because I have twice as many parents. Some nights I'll hear from all four of them within one hour. It's exhausting. They want to know if I'm sleeping okay "because of my new place and all." Is it weird, lonely, or unsettling?

No. Not at all. I sleep just fine.

Then they call again. "Are you eating? Do you want me to cook for you and drive it down to you?"

And this is where I sound like a brat. Having your parents cook for you and bring it to you is probably some people's wet dreams. I hate it. I just want to do my own thing. If this is the worst of my problems, then my life must be pretty fucking great.

Here's the thing: I'm an extremely independent person, to the point where I become proud and never ask for help. I like the taste of Hamburger Helper because I made it. I hate the idea of being one of those spoiled girls whose parents do everything for them. I'm turning 25 next week. My other 5 siblings were all married by the time they were my age. They didn't have my parents calling to ask if they are going to work on time, or coming over to drop by food, or to bring crappy ugly lamps into my apartment.

It may be because I'm the baby of the family. But I think it's closer to I'm a *gasp* unwed girl living by myself. My father says things like "When you move next year, you better have a fiance to help you carry some of this shit."

Subtle hint, Dad.

Yesterday was Easter. My father called me on Tuesday and invited me to dinner. As a part of my trying to maintain the relationship, I agreed to go. I really wanted to spend Easter in my underwear, watching the Haley Mills marathon on the Hallmark channel, but whatevs. "Pollyanna" and "The Parent Trap" will have to wait. Then my mother calls on Friday, wanting to know what I'm doing for Easter. I tell her my amended plans. She begins to cry, "But this is your family, not them!" The 20-year-old divorce still rears it's ugly head, and always will I'm suspecting.

She says she'll be all alone. She doesn't know where my brother will be. I can't stand making my mother cry, and I also saw the opportunity to finally be "the preferred child," even if only for a couple of hours, so I told her I would drive over there for lunch.

I spent my Easter watching my mother finish a bottle of wine with the neighbor and gab about how much men suck. My step-father took his cue to leave and took my dog for a walk while I sat at the dining room table and chewed off every single fingernail.

My father kept asking why I haven't been to the cute bakery by my apartment yet. I haven't because I'm driving all over the damn state every weekend to appease my parents, I have yet to spend any time at my place. It was the first year I didn't get an Easter basket. The grandkids all got one and I said since I didn't have any kids, I should have get a basket but they just laughed at me. So no peanut butter and chocolate eggs for me this year.

It's Monday morning and I'm so tired, I'm cranky. I'm glad I live in a gated community so my parents can't pop by and I feel like an absolutely rotten person for thinking so.