Glenview House of Pain

Places like this make me appreciate the homes of hoarders and obsessives. Sure, they're weird, and more often than not they smell bad, and you leave feeling like you really need to wash your hands, but at least they make an impression.

Places like this, however, where everything is neat and proper and kind of anonymous, well, you really have to use your imagination.

I can picture a lot of family dinners in this formal dining room. Dinners where everybody said "please" and "thank you" and no one ever raised their voice or talked about the long-simmering resentments that were just below the surface and silently tearing everyone apart.

This was mom's formal living room. Where were you supposed to sit? Not here. That's not what this sofa is for. If you kids want to sit around somewhere, go to your rooms and leave your father and me alone.

I didn't understand this...

... until I saw these. They're the shoes of a mean mom if ever I've seen them.

I bet the kids spent a lot of time down in the basement.

Hey, Junior. Good job on all your hard work at school. Another trophy? What is it you play again? Baseball and football and basketball? Well, that's just great. Go ahead and put it in the box with all the others. Then go up to your room and leave your mother and me alone.

Apparently little sister brought home some much weirder stuff from school.

During that time when dad was unemployed and spent all that time upstairs in his office with the door closed, we had to cut corners wherever we could.

One that cannot be returned to the store for cash or a gift card of equivalent value. Or given away to charity. Or sold in an estate sale. No matter how much they drive you crazy and grow up to break your heart and bring shame to the family.