Said to ramaxela:
"I think you would enjoy our family... In small, controlled doses. Too long with us might overload your Wacky Tolerance at first. But gradually, we wear you down.
I mean, sure, it'd start out innocently enough. Claiming to be a Space Robot when asked why you're not wearing a shirt. Walking around singing showtunes. And slowly, quietly, you slip to the more hardcore stuff. Jumping out of the pantry, naked save for boxers and warpaint, hurling lemons at passers-by. Erupting into spontaneous haiku about spatulas. Then one morning you wake up wearing angel wings with glitter on your nipples and it hits you: You're one of us."*
I am actually supposed to go to a party in about an hour. Am not looking forward to it too much. It is for my uncle's 50th birthday, held at my employers' home. It will be awkward, as all parties are. This time because I am thinking I will be the only person there who is younger than mid-30s. My bosses are grandparents, though they do not look it. I mentioned this and how odd it seemed to me, to my mother once. She reminded me that she is technically old enough to be a grandmother as well - she had me when she was 29. She also likes parties and has offered to go with me (or rather, in my place - with me 'having to leave' after staying around long enough to say hello and wish happy birthday). ♥ Mum.
*At which point the only thing one can really do is to respond in a gravelly zombie-voice: "One of usssss.... one of ussss..."