SUMMER FEVER

11 | NOW

YVES LUKACS

In Alexandria, they like to take the whole "living with your parents" thing to a whole new level. We've got this quaint little tradition where we practically stick to our parents' apron strings until we're old enough to run for president.

Life here is dictated not by the tick-tock of a clock but by the ebb and flow of convention and expectation. Here, it's practically customary for folks to remain under their parents' roof until they hit the ripe age of 25.

Why, you ask? Well, take a look at our houses. They're not your run-of-the-mill suburban abodes; they're sprawling estates, decked out with more marble and gold than a swanky hotel penthouse. Our cribs aren't just places to crash; they're veritable palaces, boasting enough square footage to make even the snootiest of hoteliers jealous.

But while these palatial estates may seem like the lap of luxury, they can also feel like a prison of indulgence, especially when you're still crashing in your childhood bedroom at the age of 20. Yet, for many of us Alexandrians, the comfort of home and the weight of tradition are tough chains to break. After all, family honor and all that jazz. I guess it's just our way of showing appreciation for our dear old folks. Nothing says "thanks for everything" quite like sticking around until you're old enough to collect social security.

And while we may have been born with silver spoons in our mouths, that doesn't mean we're content to live out our days in our parents' shadow. Our needs are bigger than that. Bet on that.

Ah, but here's the kicker.

While most Alexandrian kids have their parents breathing down their necks like helicopter parents on steroids, my situation's different. See, my dear old mum and dad are more like ghosts than actual parents. They're always off gallivanting on some business trip or another. Ever since a young age until now, I've had this place practically all for myself.

Ah, I really enjoy having things for myself.

And who needs parental supervision when you've got a mansion bigger than most hotels and a staff of servants who practically raise you themselves? It's like having Mary Poppins on speed dial, minus the singing and dancing.

But as they say, with great privilege comes great responsibility. And in my case, that responsibility included keeping certain entanglements under wraps.

While my dear old mum and dad were off sealing deals and schmoozing with the elite, I may or may not have found myself in a rather compromising situation with the housekeeper. Now, normally, this wouldn't be an issue. After all, discretion is practically a family motto. But when said housekeeper decided she wanted to make thing official, that discretion went out the window faster than you could say awkward.

Long story short, we had to let her go quicker then she came (pun absolutely intended).

But it was fun while it lasted. Ah, lots of fun.

Besides, it's not like my parents were around to witness the fallout anyway. By the time they returned from their latest jaunt to who-knows-where, the whole scandal had blown over faster than yesterday's headlines.

And as for me? Well, I learned a valuable lesson about mixing business with pleasure. From then on, I made sure to keep my dalliances discreet, tucked away in the shadows of the Lukacs manor where prying eyes couldn't see.

That's just life here. A never-ending carousel of scandal and intrigue, where the only thing more profuse than the houses are the secrets buried within their walls. And as for me, I'll take a life of luxury and scandal over peaceful suburbia any day of the week. And the fun never ends, does it? It's like a damn circus. Clowns and weird creatures all over the place. And as long as there's breath in my lungs and a glint in my eye, I'll be right here, ready to dive headfirst into whatever shit happens next.