This is What You'll Get

First of all, I hate my parents.

They keep on telling you this and that.

They keep repeating the same friggin’ lines over and over again. Like, you didn’t hear them when they first said it.

Aggravating

And don’t get me started on those ‘You’re grounded’ and ‘you’re BANNED young lady!’ lines.

Oh. I’m ranting. Sorry. I’m supposed to tell you a nice, little, friggin’, put-you-to-bed story. Ok. Slash that ‘put-you-to-bed’ thing.

‘Coz I guarantee a hundred and one percent this isn’t kids-friendly. Um, not in that r-rated way. I don’t tell those kinds of stories. *insert sly grin*

SO

Anyway, here’s my story. (At last, huh?)

It was on a cold yet fresh December night. I had just gone home an hour before midnight from a friend’s party. You know those ‘get drunk and party’ parties? Those parties my parents LOATHED? Yep. THOSE parties.

So, I tried to get in as quietly as possible. Praying the lump of pillows—I know, I know, it was so OLD, but there’s no harm in trying, right?—made a decent simulation of me sleeping SO early.

The house was dark. And I relaxed. The house being dark meant they were waiting upstairs, which was good since I haven’t thought of a lie yet.

Note to self: 3 bottles of vodka muddles your Lying Ability.

Well, like those cliché movies, the living room lights suddenly flicked on. Mom stood beside the switch and Dad was glaring at me with his hands crossed in front of him. I grinned sheepishly. “Hey”

BUSTED!

        “Honey, this is going w-a-a-ay too much.” Mom says as usual. We were seated around the dining table.

‘3, 2, 1…’ I count. Anytime now …

“Your mom has a point. It has been, what, 5 nights in a row?” Dad cuts in right on cue. Then I go: “It’s 20 dad.” As usual, I correct his poor math.

Gods, I could mimic them if I wanted to. It was majorly IRRITATING. I heard this probably 20 times already, too.

But the next lines were TOTALLY UNEXPECTED.

Mom sighed. “Because of this, honey, we were forced to sell your Blackberry. It seemed that you used it to make plans behind our backs.” She said. Dad was staring at me hard. Mom had that stupid I-pity-you face. And I was not breathing.

“WHAT THE EFF?!”

“I didn’t buy you that phone so that you could use it to sneak out and plan stuff without our knowing.” Dad growled. “Certain measures had to be made for your sake.”

My chest was constricting. “I friggin’ saved my money for that.” I said, flabbergasted. “And you… you just… you SOLD IT?!” My voice rose. “Did you know that I had to quit buying snacks and using that vendo machine just to BUY THAT PHONE?!” My shoulders were tense. My hands were gripping the edge of the table hard. I gave up buying that cold chocolate drink and those yummy baked macs just for that dang Blackberry WHICH they sold like it didn’t cost a cent!

“Don’t you raise your tone on us,” Dad warned, his voice was clipped. “And you better watch your language young lady.” He pointed a finger at me. I almost huffed in exasperation. ‘Friggin’’ was a cuss word? Puh-lease!

“Well, you shouldn’t have—”

“Save it.” Mom said quietly. “Go to your room. If we have to lock you in and deliver your food there three times a day, if it would make you a better lady, we would.”