Honestly, when I remember it, I can hear the fabric of reality tearing.

I was 16, on a road-trip in the US with my dad and my sister. We’re French. First time in the US. Get to NYC after a month. That was before Internet existed: we had booked a room in the Central Park YMCA by mail. Reception goes: “Yes, you’re in the book. LastName, 2 people, today through next Saturday.”
“Err, no, sorry, the dates are right but there are 3 of us.”
“Oh, we must have written it down wrong, no problem, we’ll give you a bigger room.” We get to our room. 5 minutes later there’s a knock on the door. My sister opens it. My dad’s jaw clatters on the lino floor. It was his estranged dad and very much estranged step-mother. He hadn’t been in touch for 20 years; I had met them once when I was 3; my sister, never. They had booked a room under the same LastName (duh), for the same 6 nights, in the same hostel, for their first visit to the US.
We did spend some time with them in NYC, but it didn’t lead to any happily-ever-after, family-healing breakthrough, because they were jerks or, to be honest, monsters.

J’attends de voir le dawa dans mon village de 170 habitants, avec que des femmes de 80 ans et plus et des agriculteurs hommes de 40 à 70. (Non, je ne sais pas où est passé le reste de la pyramide des âges. En ville et au cimetière, j’imagine.)

I think he went? He ordered them on the web from Berlin retailers, then booked a plane ticket. Our dad caught up with him at some point, but I can’t remember if it was here or there. We were just happy he didn’t try to ride his huge bike across Europe instead of flying. The state he was in, he wouldn’t have made it.

We live 3000 km from Berlin.

In France, Chilean-French isn’t a thing, unless you hold both passports. You’re “YourPassportian, but in France for 20 years”, or “YourPassportian, but moved countries a lot.” .

As the sister of a 45-year-old man who’s been diagnosed with bipolar disorder (dunno the English term) 20 years ago: when you take the right meds, they’ll work. You’ll then think you’re good and don’t need them anymore, and stop taking them because the side effects are annoying. It’s a really bad idea. Last time he got 5,000€ in debt to buy Christmas trees to gift to random homeless people around Berlin.

I thought you were doing alright!

Well. We had a good run. May your next relationship last a bit longer.

Why chose?
(But go ahead, please.)

Me too! Wanna get married?

Quand j’étais gamine les témoins de Jéhovah sonnaient chez nous, c’est vrai que ça n’arrive plus…
Ma mère, bourgeoise de gauche intello, m’avait appris à gueuler, si c’était moi qui leur ouvrais la porte : “Maman, c’est encore ces idiots, je leur dis d’aller se faire foutre ?”

Glad that you asked! I weave rag rugs from dead clothing and sheets. It goes Sheet > Rag for spills > Cleaning rag > Teared into strips for weaving. When I have a full bag, I weave a new rug, having fun with the colors on hand. I get 60cm*1m absorbent rugs for the bathroom or the mudroom. Some are so cute my kid preempts them for her bedroom. They’re resistant, thick, easy to wash, easy to discard when they get ratty.

Mon neveu a appris vers 16 ans que la mémoire n’est un muscle qu’au sens figuré.

Never had your issue, but Dim is okay. Mid-range quality.

I’m speaking for all of us when I say: What?

Which country?.

While I feel the pain of his wives, with their 8 or 9 (living!) children each.

We’re in France.

He got the maximum sentence.

I am. We’ll have someone in the next week. (And the Left won’t like them.)