Never go to a tattoo artist if bad luck is following you

𝟬𝟮 | 𝗘𝘀𝗰𝗮𝗽𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗼 𝗠𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗰𝗼 𝘄𝗮𝘀𝗻'𝘁 𝗮𝗻 𝗼𝗽𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻.

Before heading home, I stopped at the small supermarket a couple of blocks from my house.

As soon as I walked in, the air conditioning hit me like a blast of cold air from the North Pole.

I get it—summer, heat, and all that—but turning a supermarket into a freezer in mid-June seems a bit excessive, doesn't it? What are they going to do in August? Try to freeze themselves to escape "heat depression"?

I didn't even grab a cart since I only needed one thing: ice cream. My parents love ice cream.

I ponder which flavors to get. My dad's favorite is cookie, while my mom's is mint. I grab one tub of each flavor, and while I'm at it, I also pick up my favorite—coconut. I head to the checkout, pay, and ask for one of those insulated bags to keep the ice cream from turning into a milkshake on the way home.

I return home, open the door, and close it behind me, placing the keys on the table next to the door.

No sign of my parents.

I take the ice cream tubs to the kitchen and put them in the freezer. Then I head to my room, close the door, and take off my shoes. I sit cross-legged in front of the mirror, preparing to rehearse what I'm going to say to my parents. At least this way, when I'm in front of them, I won't end up rambling about random stuff.

I take a deep breath and start talking to my reflection as if it might come to life and say, "Great speech. Your parents won't ground you for this."

Yeah, right.

"Okay... how should I start?" I scratch my chin. "Mom, Dad, I'm in trouble." No, that won't work. "Mom, Dad, remember the tattoo I wanted to get? Well, Mom, Dad gave me the money because I blackmailed him, so I went to the tattoo artist, but when I walked in and closed the door, the owner's favorite painting fell." I think about it for a moment. "Well, I could say that I went through with the tattoo, and then keep the money while making a drawing with a black marker and pretending it's my 'new tattoo,'" I muse aloud.

Someone clears their throat behind me. "You're not keeping my money."

My parents have opened my bedroom door and are standing in the entrance. Fantastic.

My mom looks at me, puzzled. "What do you mean, you made the owner's favorite painting fall? Are we going to have to put a sign on your back that says 'Stay Away from This Girl, She's Bad Luck'?!"

My dad sighs. "Here's the deal: you're going to tell us what happened. But first, let's go downstairs and eat the ice cream you bought." And then he disappears.

Hearing that last part, my mom's eyes light up, and she follows her husband.

Those two go crazy for ice cream. I'm a freaking genius.

I head back to the kitchen, sit at the table, and open the coconut ice cream tub. I have a bit, then pass the tub to my dad. He hands over his tub to my mom, and she gives me hers. We repeat this cycle several times. That's how our ice cream tradition works.

While my dad continues to eat, my mom starts talking. "So, Brianna, why don't you tell us how it went?"

I take a deep breath and start recounting the events. "I walked into the store, and as soon as I closed the door, a painting fell. After a moment of silence, the guy I think is the store owner took me to his office. He told me the painting was valuable because the frame was gold." I take a spoonful of mint ice cream, and we go through the tub-passing routine again.

"He gave me two options. I could either pay for the damages right away or work at the store with part of my salary withheld each month to cover the damages. I chose the second option, and he said I start on Monday."

My dad looks at me incredulously. "Let me get this straight. You closed the door, and out of nowhere, a painting fell—his favorite one—and it was valuable..." He pauses. "Damn, Brianna, you're not kidding when you say bad luck follows you. Especially considering you were born on February 29th." And he bursts out laughing with my mom.

Thanks, guys, for laughing at my misfortunes.

Then they stop abruptly. My mom looks at me in shock. "Wait a minute... you chose to work indefinitely instead of paying immediately? Damn, you're really becoming responsible and mature." She looks pale.

I widen my eyes while my dad supports her.

We all had the same thought. She was so pale I feared she might faint.

I certainly won't tell them how much I would have had to pay. My mom would have had a heart attack. Better to work it off rather than ask for that kind of money. Damn gold frame.

I close the ice cream tub, put it back in the freezer, and then turn to face them.

"Well, escaping to Mexico wasn't an option."

My parents exchange glances, and after a moment, my dad speaks.

"Kate, dear, should we ground her or not?" He looks at me. "Usually, she doesn't take responsibility, so punishment is the obvious choice. But... what do we do now?"

My mom thinks for a moment, then speaks. "Well, Christopher, I'd say that for this time, just because she's being mature, we should do nothing. And look on the bright side. We'll spend months without seeing her around the house for most of the day, and that'll be five days a week."

"It'll be a dream come true," my dad replies dreamily.

Oh God, what kind of family are we?

I give them one last look. "Well, it's clear your days without me will be empty. Goodbye, muggles." I head back to my room.

At least they took it well.