It's a good thing we don't own a gun.
I would use it.
Primo came home last Saturday. He had been gone for a month, with one quick weekend home. He was supposed to be here until Tuesday. In this time, we were going to celebrate his birthday and he was going to do a bunch of chores and he was going to relax.
Instead, we had the drama of Doris needing a blood transfusion. And an x-ray because of severe abdominal pains, which turned out to be (as I diagnosed) constipation.
Today, Sly called Primo - Sly never calls Primo - he just complains that Primo doesn't call them enough - to say that he does not know what to do.
Admitting he does not know what to do.
Primo messaged earlier today
Primo is worried about his mom, whom he will not be able to see for a week yet, so has decided to return early to his mom and dad's.
"It's no fun for me here," he said. "They still bring their problems to me but now I am a thousand miles away. This is just too hard."
"Did you want to scream at your dad that he is the reason Doris is in a rehab center?"
"Yes," Primo admitted.
So now, on a weekend when we are having a houseguest and in a week where Primo was going to relax and catch up on some chores, he is instead, again
dealing with his parents' shit.