Things That Happened When I Went to Visit My Parents at Home in New York Last Week

My father and I took a brisk walk into town to buy bagels; my father said "Let's walk to the Garth Road playground" and I said "I don't know, it's really hot" and he said "Okay, let's just walk at least to this corner" and I said "I don't know, it's just so hot," so we walked home. 

My father and my boyfriend and I tried on running shoes and walked around a Sports Authority in them for roughly half an hour, while my mother kept watch over my purse and the shoes we came in with. 

My mother offered to buy me some sports bras at the Sports Authority, and I politely declined since I am new to "sports" and don't want to invest too much into it, not yet, if that makes sense. 

I got a call from my new therapist during the Sports Authority trip and pretend jogged past my father who was watching tennis on a TV near the Asics section and pretend slowed down and pretend huffed "they said I could start therapy sessions next week" and then I pretend jogged away.

My mother waved around a set of "off size" measuring spoons and I asked her to stop, as the sound was a bit grating, and she kindly stopped and I said "sorry, it's just that the sound was a bit grating."

I made my boyfriend take pictures of every nook and cranny of the house, in case my parents sell it before we have pictures of every nook and cranny in the house.

I went into a section of the unfinished basement I'd never been in before and thought it was spooky. 

My boyfriend and I decided against taking a slab of marble unused by my parents and graciously offered to us if we wanted to make some sort of table. 

I wrote this line, apropos of nothing, in my journal, around two in the morning: "women (and girls) devoid of admirable work ethics and/or insurmountable odds are still women (and girls) worth reading about."

I tried to find little sample bottles of Clinique moisturizer but couldn't find any.

I admired my mother's new hairdryer and thought about writing down the model and make so that I could get the same kind. 

I good-naturedly debated with my mother, father and boyfriend over who was more deserving of a wok that has sat unused for nearly a decade: someone who made Chinese food once for her husband and daughters ten years ago, or someone who has never made Chinese food, but would seriously consider it, were she in possession of a wok. 

Hours later, my mother offered to make me Chinese food.

I declined, and we all took out, from Chopstix.

I did not take a wok back to Boston.