I'm a joker, he's a smoker, she's a midnight what?!

Thanksgiving has passed. Thank god. I hate Thanksgiving: it's important enough that you're expected to spend it with the family, but it's not religious so none of said family is on good behavior.

It's always Thanksgiving when I'm traumatized by my family. This year was no exception:

My step-mother and father and I were eating dinner the night before I left town. My step-mother's sister was visiting and we had just finished laughing over my speed dating story.

My step-mother's sister looks up from her plate of spaghetti, "Did you ever smoke pot?"

I look up wild-eyed and was immediately relieved when I see that she's not looking at me; she's looking at my step-mom. I look down at my plate and pretend I didn't hear the question.

My step-mother takes a long pause. I stare down a piece of garlic bread in front of me. "I did, but I waited," she began. "Like I really waited."

"Like I really, really waited," she continued. Only then I look up from my plate. Exactly how old was my step-mom when she smoked pot?

She looks to my father, "Honey, how old was I?"

I gag on the noodles I just forked into my mouth. She smoked pot with my father?! It's no secret that my dad was a hippie and smoked in college, but he did it after I was born?!

They smoked pot together which places me at least five years old. My dad was in his early forties smoking pot with my step-mom. I only tried it a handful of times when I was 21. Alcohol is my drug of choice. But my parents might still be toking.

Wow. That has to be good for a few years of therapy.