Today you're going to take a road trip with your beloved family!

It's summertime.  You have two weeks off from working in the small state farm outlet where your Dad is an agent and pays you 7 measly dollars an hour to type and to rub his temples when he gets a migraine.  Your husband has been laid off from the Callahan Brake Pad Factory.  Your son Jack got kicked out of day care for stealing cigarettes from the yard attendant and you're afraid if you leave your daughter alone at the house for more than an hour she will without a doubt lose her virginity.

Time to get your snot-nosed brat kids into the back seat and your husband in the front and hit the fucking road.

“WHY ARE YOU DRIVING SO FAST? IT’S THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT! WHERE ARE WE GOING!” your kids and husband will shout. Tell them to shut their goddamn mouths or you’ll drive through a guardrail into a gulch and kill them all.

“Road trips are supposed to be spontaneous,” you explain once they’re all silent and shaking with fear. “We’re going to drive and have dangerous adventures until something about us CHANGES.”

First stop is downtown Cleveland, where you'll pull into bars and pick fights.

Later in New Orleans you'll visit the grave of a voodoo queen.  Legend has it if you draw three red x's in chalk on her tomb she will grant you a wish.  Your wish is that you were dead.  Your husband stoops down, draws three x's and stands up, loudly proclaiming "I wish that the Packers would make the playoffs" with his eyes closed.

You erase your old set of x's, draw three new ones.  You'll wish your husband was dead.

Your daughter sexts her boyfriend the entire time, while your son urinates on a gravestone that reads "Beloved Aunt."

From then on you stop reading street signs and point the car in random directions.  Somewhere on the eastern seaboard you transport crystal meth and pick up hitchhikers who remember seeing the ghost of Freddie Mercury and you come to the aid of a crashed crop duster, managing to rescue the pilot before his plane bursts into flames.

You drive for four more months, and when you pause to celebrate your daughter’s fifteenth birthday and your son’s ninth by the lip of the grand canyon, you all finally agree that you've each discovered something about yourselves that has changed you forever.

“I hate the road,” your daughter says.

“I hate America,” your son says.

“I hate anyone who isn't caucasian,” your husband says.

“I want to spend the rest of my life in a tree,” you say.

Your husband hoists you up into a tree then he and your two kids wave goodbye as you climb higher and higher. Your husband says he’ll come back in a few months with divorce papers, but that he’s glad you’ve discovered yourself, and that you won’t be in his life to drag him on another awful trip like this one ever again.

Today you'll leave What's His Face!

"Don't forget the ice cube trays, bitch."

You've just received word that Jacques is still alive all these years later, that when his car went off that cliff he wasn't in it, that for one reason or another he needed you and everyone else to believe he was dead.

“Guess we need to get a divorce,” you say to your second husband, Robert.

Robert won’t be happy. “You don’t have to go back to him! He’ll understand that you thought he was dead and moved on.”

Tell Brad you didn't move on. You thought you did, but you didn't have a day go by where you didn't have to consciously push Jacques out of that little space he occupies in the back of your mind.  Tell Robert he’s a really sweet guy and he’s pretty great in the bedroom department and you've had a fun time these six years during which he helped raise your kids as his own, but he’s no Jacques.

“But you don’t even know why he faked his death,” Robert will say. “For all you know he didn't even care how his death affected you. For all you know he left town and traveled far away and faked his death to get away from you.”

Explain to Robert that that might be the case, but now that you know Jacques is alive again there's really no reason you should pretend not to be completely bored of Robert any more, and that you're out like disco.

“Tonight! What? You’re just going to…Ow!”

Apologize for dropping your suitcase on his head while trying to get it out of the closet.

Robert will switch gears and start to tick off reasons on his fingers why you should feel guilty.

“Sorry Robert,” say. “I’m just in a hurry. Want to try to get Jacques to see me naked before he changes his mind again.”

Robert will be exasperated. “You’re supposed to be conflicted about this kind of thing! You’re supposed to be searching your heart to find out if you still love him or if you having mourned him and married someone new has effectively closed the chapter on that part of your—”

“Sorry, not conflicted. Jacques is alive! Thanks for subbing in as my husband for a while!” you’ll shout from the window of your car as you speed out of your driveway, laughing at a text Jacques had sent to you a few seconds ago.

Robert will go inside to find your kids packing their things. “You’re not our Dad anymore! You’re just Robert now!”

Robert will go into the bedroom and try to get used to just being Robert now, just being Robert now that Jacques is alive again.