You have to love your family. You do, even if you don't, right? You don't have to understand them or play tennis with them, but you have to love them. It's a rule, and it's the kind of rule you don't break unless you're some kind of animal.

My brother happens to be some kind of animal. My sister rides this sweet gold Honda scooter and has amazing hair. You'd hate her. My parents are vegetarian let-the-sunshine-in freaks. Lovable freaks but freaks all the same. My grand­father possesses a shocking comb-over, a kilt, about half of his original marbles, and his own golf complex. This summer, we are all working for him. It is going to be two hot, lucrative, carefree months of paradise.

Or, possibly something else.