Saint Dirty Face

So we rolled into San Antonio with the idea of hitting a clearance, chilling, maybe finding some peace in a day away.

Spoiler alert: peace didn’t RSVP.

Three teenage kids. Three different opinions.

Three different volumes.

Three different debates about literally everything.

It was like watching C-SPAN, but with hormones and TikTok slang.

I say this with love. (Maybe. Jury’s still out.)

Downtown? Chaos.

The mall? Endless “but I don’t like that store” debates.

Dinner? Less “breaking bread” and more “breaking my patience.”

And these aren’t little kids anymore—they’re mid-to-older teens. Which means their default setting is goddamn annoying.

No mute button. No off switch. Just pure adolescent surround-sound.

But here’s the kicker: alcohol exists. 🍹

A couple of drinks later, their mouths were still moving, but my ears had officially filed for divorce.

Bliss. Absolute bliss.

So finally, the day ends.

I sink into a chair, fire up Family Guy, and lose it at the line:

“Meg throws away tiny humans that come out of her body all the time.”

And just like that, life felt okay again.

Saint Dirty Face PSA of the Day:

Drink alcohol until the kids’ voices go mute.

(It won’t fix the chaos, but it’ll fix you.)