The Cloud Maker
By Adam Ferguson
My fiancé comes from the whitest family I’ve ever met. They are members of two country clubs. They have a certificate indicating their direct ancestors arrived in America on the boat that came just after the Mayflower. Do you realize how white you have to be to do that? They were like, “Fuck that. You poor people go over first, plant some corn and kill some turkeys. Here, take these blankets covered with smallpox and give them to the brown people living in the woods. We’ll come over in the spring when it’s warmer and there are less of those people hanging around.”
Because of their extreme caucasionality, they need to have things regimented. Such is the case whenever I go on vacation with them. The time between 10am - 12pm is reserved for “physical activity.” This includes tennis, “cycling,” berating the vaguely-Hispanic man who they hire to water their driveway, and slicing limes for the gin & tonics we’ll be enjoying later on. (Served promptly at 6. Wear a collared shirt.)
