What exactly have I done to deserve this?
I work. I come home. I go to work again.
I have long ago abandoned the bar scene. I don't trust myself not to snap the neck of some drunken Barbie doll for pouring her drink down my back. I don't drink (although I think after this morning I might just take it up) and don't have much patience for drunks if I am sober. Dilemma. So, aside from the biweekly booty call, I don't get out much. Which is fine, I enjoy just being at home, lounging around, surfing and watching tv. It really doesn't take much to make me happy.
I don't buy a lot for myself, I dress for coverage, that's it. The things I buy for myself are usually computer related. I am, by no stretch of the imagination, a shopper. Although I do try every so often, but standing in the entrance to Walmart makes my skin crawl, so I manage to get in and out pretty quickly.
Off topic for a second, my sister and I went to Walmart recently and she insisted on using the self-serve checkouts. They promise to be faster, do-it-yourself. After ten minutes of scanning the mini blinds over and over until the blasted machine finally recognized it, we were finally finished. "Oh ya, that was faster." I say, rolling my eyes.
As we make our way to the exit we are accosted by the store greeter. Most greeters look like carny folk and clearly this kid is ... mentally challenged? I think they put these people in this position because they think consumers will take shit from them for fear of not being politically correct. I am nothing if not a PC, equal opportunity bitch. Ok, I wouldn't kick a blind kid and blame it on the dog, but if you piss me off, I don't care if your a head in a jar, I am going to object to it. "Mind if I check your bag?" he says. My sister is secretly hoping some small, shiny object has captured my attention and I will not respond. Her hopes are dashed.
"If we say, yes would it make a difference?"
As he checks the contents of her bags against the receipt I go off. "Oh ya, this is soooo much quicker. Fight with the machine for ten minutes and then waste another ten minutes while they frisk us like shoplifters. I am so glad we didn't waste time making the cashier do the job for us."
As my sister repacks her bags, "They do the same thing at Cosco, Mamme."
"Thanks for the heads up."
Anyway, where was I? Oh ya, I don't drink, I don't go out partying and I don't spend money on myself. So why does The Boy think that I will take shit from him day in and day out? He wakes me at 7am this morning. "Make me some scrambled eggs?"
"Make em yourself."
"I don't know how!" Are you kidding me?
"It's scrambled eggs, not nuclear fusion. Fuck off somewhere!" He opens the curtains and lets the sun blast me in the face. I try to kick him and he grabs the post on the foot board of my bed and pulls. The bed crashes to the floor.
That is when I lost my mind. "Why is it that when you get mad, you smash my shit?"
I broke, started bawling. Remember its 7am and he has woken me from a dead sleep, not the most stable I have ever been. This totally takes The Boy by surprise. He then tries to fix the bed, with me in it, not an easy task. All the while I am ranting. Telling him how all I do is work and all he does is spend the money and bitch and complain about there not being enough for him. He doesn't like the house, he thinks the car is a piece of crap, he doesn't like the neighborhood, he wants to live in another town. On and on and on he bitches about how his life is so bad.
"How long do you suppose I will put up with this shit before I slit my own throat?" As I said, it doesn't take much to make me happy. Just a little peace and quiet, my things intact, that sort of thing. But faced with The Boy, breaking one of my only possessions? "Explain to me why I work to give you everything you want when you can't even manage to not break the few things I have for myself?"
I really can't wait for the empty nest.