We Are Rantasaurus Rex, Hear Us Roar

Catherinette Singleton, besieged on the beach

How do I begin to explain the horror that was my family trip to Florida 3 years ago. My father and step mother thought it would be grand if we could all go down there and spend some time bonding as a family.

Let me just give you a few phrases to provide you a brief description:

1. 1. The smell that hit us when we walked into the house where I would be staying.
2. The disgusting toilet I had to clean with a washcloth and bar soap because no one had bothered to do it before I arrived.
3. Random children all over the house, adding to the smell.
4. Having to watch the birth (via Cesarean section) of a child I did not know.
5. My step-mother’s racist father that insisted that Mexicans only eat goat and tortilla. Didn’t seem to bother him that I was Mexican, and insisted that it wasn’t the case.
6. My step-mother’s crazy mother breaking out into song, and insulting one of her daughters. Wonderful comments included, but were not limited to: “Fatty fatty 2 by 4, can’t get through the kitchen door,” “My god. I didn’t think they made swimsuits in your size,” and “I don’t think that chair can take all of your weight.”
7. And let us not forget the convicted felon that had just been released? What was his crime? No one would tell us. All they would say is, “Best keep your little one away from him.”

Classy, classy trip. Just thinking about it makes me want to bang my head on my desk and weep openly.

Rantasaurus Rex: I know. When I went to Florida, I ate lobster, drank wine and sunbathed luxuriously, too. Wait, I think I missed the point of your story.