Well, after weeks of not answering any of our calls (for some bizarre reason we try several times a week), my mom FaceTimed us. The apocalypse must be nigh. It had been so long she didn’t even know about Fry’s ASD diagnosis yet, and her reaction was completely within character (and she’s generally a shitty character). She’d already suspected he might have it based on his cadence (“oooh, I had such a SAD feeling”), and she took the news the same way she would have taken me saying he had a terminal illness or some shit. So continues Mamafish’s life of suffering, much of which is legit sad, and much of which is self-induced martyrdom. Thus far the only grandparent who hasn’t pissed me off with regards to the diagnosis is my cringeworthingly tone-deaf dad, which is really saying something.