“I wasn’t that bad looking when I was younger.”
“No, of course not!”
“Now I’m getting old.”
“It happens…”
“Fuck this shit.”
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“I wasn’t that bad looking when I was younger.”
“No, of course not!”
“Now I’m getting old.”
“It happens…”
“Fuck this shit.”
We’re both fine on our own, but if Mom is around, suddenly we’re super dependent and feel the need to defer to her on every decision. We both will constantly call out for her. It doesn’t even matter where she is in the house. And we both say out loud what we’re going to do next, probably for Mom to hear.
“Ok, I’m reducing the heat! Chris! Chris?! I’m reducing the heat! The package says to reduce the heat!!!”
And we both, without a doubt, will quickly become increasingly panicked and hysterical.
“Mom do you think my cookies are done yet? Do you think they’re done? I think they’re done! Mom?! MOM!… NO ONE CARES ABOUT MY COOKIES!”
While it was cooking, I placed some packaged cookies and muffins on top of the stove that were usually in the oven. Later while I was eating my pizza in my room, my dad called me downstairs. He starts telling me off really sternly saying,
“Jess, you can’t leave this stuff on top of the stove when you cook something in the oven. You see this?”
Some of the plastic packaging had melted. Not badly or anything but it was definitely melted. I started to laugh.
“I didn’t know!!!”
“It’s not art Jess! Ok? It’s not art!”
That made me laugh even harder. I’m pretty sure he was stoned.
The girl who just can't play it cool 