As if we’re new here. As if we don’t know he’s about to play “The Incredible Invisible Man!” Leaving Mom all smiling her head off, making excuses for him. Pretending his disappearing act is one of the quirky little things she just, like, adores about him.

Gag me.

Maybe Dad can’t help it, or maybe he doesn’t exactly, like, kill himself trying.

I’m all, “Mom, how can you stand it?” I’d put up with garbage like that from a husband of mine for exactly not one second. And that’s a total promise. For sure. You can, like, quote me.

Anyway, it’s all hopping downstairs. The kitchen’s, like, totally crammed with caterer-ladies in tacky avocado-green aprons. Massive amounts of appetizers are being fussed over, arranged, heated. Our oven is probably in shock. It never even, like, dreamed of so much action in its entire life. And the whole place smells totally fattening.

One musician testing amps in the den is really cute and he, like, smiles at me.

Another guy is setting up a bar in the dining room.

More avocado aprons are setting the round tables. Mom is barking orders and looking totally insane.

I steal an apple and go out on the patio. Pretty, like, streamer thingies are looped around and there are flowers everywhere. It doesn’t look or even feel like our house anymore. And the weather is per-fect-o.

Then I’m all, like, wondering what my engagement party’ll be like. And bam, I’m suddenly thinking of you-know-who and the whole mood is wrecked and I want to kill him. And if I cry one tear more I, like, know my eyes’ll be two red blisters and totally gross out everyone at the luncheon. I start swallowing like mad and holding my eyes all wide open, so if there are, like, tears, they’ll dry before spilling. Pathetic, no?

Then Mack, my sister’s fiancé, shows up looking scared out of his wits. I guess about being, like, center stage in all this froth. It’s hard to believe Mack is going to be my, like, brother-in-law. I’ve never had any kind of brother before. In-law or out.

I go, “My sister’s upstairs using all the hot water—leaving exactly none for the rest of our showers.” And Mack actually gets a little pink in the cheeks! Or maybe I’m hallucinating.

I’m, like, totally mute about her trying to melt her megazit, because I get the feeling Mack and my sister aren’t the kind of friends, or lovers or whatever, who talk zits. Which is, like, seriously lame if you ask me, seeing as they’re getting married. And how can anyone expect to keep pimples secret in, like, a one-bathroom apartment?