How You Know You're From Good People

Today when I came home for Thanksgiving I was greeted by my mother wearing a very bright tie-dyed shirt that I owned in 8th grade, let me note a very brief phase of mine. There was something about my 62-year-old mother wearing this that set up an evening of "anything goes." Somehow I ended up confessing over salami how I recently got very stoned and decided I shouldn't smoke weed anymore. They agreed I should probably give up the ghost on that one. Then we talked about how much we all love Bruce Springsteen, and how "Born to Run" is probably all of our favorite song. Then I told them my idea for a Jewish comic book hero called The Midnight Mohel. They agreed that it would be a runaway success and offered some additional storyline ideas. I suggested that it seemed like we had all just smoked weed, they agreed again. 
My favorite exchange took place over burgers, beer, and Saints vs Cowboys with one of my sisters and her girlfriend. 
Mom: I started to like Joe Montana because he has such a cool name. 
Me: Yeah but only the last name, I mean you put any name in front of Montana and it's going to be awesome...except Hannah.
Then we all laughed, maybe with excessive loudness, and at that moment I thought, "I'm really glad these people are my family because I recognize how hilarious they are and am thankful that they seem to think I am equally as funny."
Happy Thanksgiving, stoners.

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