Probably why I'm not the favorite child

During my freshman year of college, my dad and stepmom and my kid half-sister came to visit me overnight in my horrible, no good, very moldy and stuffy apartment in the middle of August.

It was miserable. For them. Not just because I am a poor conversationalist with no cable TV; rather, I was so poor that I couldn't turn on the air conditioner without having to forgo buying food that month.

Factors to consider: We see each other maybe twice a year, and talk a few times more than that. I hate being hot almost as much as ... no, wait. I can't think of anything. (Maybe being hot while listening to people whisper and also having a Michael Bolton song in my head. That'd be worse.) And I get that "it's hot it's hot dear God help me it's hot" chant from my dad.

We spent the days outdoors and shopping, even going on a short tour of the area I lived in. Then we came back and sat down to watch a movie.

My dad was immediately annoyed.

"Can I just give you $20? We can flip that thing on," he said, nodding toward the wall unit air conditioner.

"I guess ..."

"Awww, it wouldn't work fast enough anyhow."

He stood up, checked to make sure my oscillating fan was turning on high. Yup. Of course. He got a pair of shorts out of his car and changed. He paced on the linoleum floor in the kitchenette area, fanning his shirt.

I offered him a drink. No, nothing cold enough. He sat down and wiped his forehead.

"Can I see your computer?" I pointed to my laptop on the table, which he flipped on and pounded "hotels, Perrysburg" into the search engine.

"You guys can stay here," I said, reminding them that I had a spare bedroom since my roommate moved out. I'd planned on it ... I had spare sheets and everything!

"Naah, it's OK." Would I be offended if they just stayed at the hotel?

Well. I guess not.

And they did; so much for family togetherness. They made reservations online, snapped the notebook screen shut and said "Well, let's go."

Just like that, they were gone for cooler sleeping quarters, and I was left watching the credits roll on some TV movie.

Now ... I don't know if you've noticed, but it's 92 and humid here. My dad is allegedly coming up to stay a few days on Wednesday night. But I fear I'll again be embarrassed and left feeling awkward when he sits there sweating, wanting to book a hotel room.

I mean, if he's going to go sit in a room somewhere where it's 65 degrees, the least he could do would be to invite me and Dave along for the evening. Seriously.