Drinking two martinis and then waiting for the train back to New Jersey whilst sitting on the floor at Penn Station watching your husband eat a cupcake after determining that the bakery had NOTHING without gluten, and THEN having to read a schmoopy THREAT about pregnant Ginny farting and Teddy's damn empathic, automatic metamorphoses (really? I don't remember Tonks as a freaking mood ring) just makes me crazy.
I guess I haven't calmed down. The in-laws are lovely, but, well, yeah. you know the drill.
And why the hell would Harry name his kids after his parents? He's got issues.