## The Existential Dread of Domestic Obliviousness
Forty-eight days. Forty-eight solid, uninterrupted days! That’s how long this family – a mother and two sons – apparently existed in some blissful, disconnected bubble while their father was frolicking with Mai Tais on a volcanic island. Seriously? Are you kidding me? I’m starting to suspect the concept of familial awareness simply ceased to exist within that household.
It’s not even about the vacation itself – though, let’s be honest, Hawaii sounds pretty decent. It’s about the *lack* of recognition! Forty-eight days of board games. Presumably punctuated by snacks and minimal conversation beyond, “Your turn,” and “No, I don’t need help.” Did no one miss him? Not even a little bit? Did the dog not howl in confusion?
This isn’t heartwarming; it’s unsettling! It suggests a profound level of emotional detachment bordering on the bizarre. Are they all robots? Are board games their only form of communication now? Is this the future of family interactions? I picture them, perfectly synchronized, rolling dice while Dad builds sandcastles and sends postcards that gather dust on a mantlepiece.
Forty-eight days. It’s frankly appalling. Someone needs to stage an intervention. A very loud one. Preferably with interpretive dance and strongly worded letters. Because this…this is not normal. This is a cautionary tale.
