The countdown is on!

Hanging out at my parents’ house as an adult is wild. Like, first, when did the half and half get swapped out for oatmilk creamer? Not complaining, just… wondering. And, seriously, did I actually grow up in this teeny tiny bedroom (sullenly hunkered—the emo years were strong) without high-speed internet or a cell phone? Then, I wonder: When did the neighbors get chickens; why are the coffee mugs in a different cabinet; how the hell am I supposed to plug my laptop in when there are no outlets any...