Stumbling Through

Scary Films

Chapter Seven

 

“Do I either want or need an explanation for this?” I asked, staring at my Uncle’s outfit in a mix up of amusement and mortification.

“Isn’t this what all the cool parents are wearing?” He asked pulling on his brightly coloured studded shirt that had been designed to look like its sleeves had been ripped off.

That was only the tip of the iceberg. His hat was worn backwards and had the word ‘gangsta’ written in glittering gold, he was wearing trousers that were tightly belted at his waist, but worn low enough that it made his colourful boxers viewable above the waistline and to make it worse he was also wearing a pair of right pink converse, and a jacket designed to look like a football jersey.

“Only if they hate their children.” I answered him in earnest, trying to fight the smile off of my face. “Please tell me you are not planning on going out in public like that.” I begged, knowing he would get his ass kicked.

My Uncle blushed, scratching the back of his head, looking down to examine his outfit.

“It’s pretty bad isn’t it?” He asked.

“You look like you’re going through a midlife crisis.” I agreed. And that was probably exactly whoever had let him buy this crap had been thinking.

He bit down on his lip.

“What exactly inspired…this?” I asked, thinking of no words that could describe what I was seeing.

He licked his lips and gave me a sheepish grin. “Parenting magazine.” He admitted.

I groaned loudly. “This is why I told you to stop reading those.” I told him, mentally face palming myself. “You take their advice too far.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “I’m only trying to ‘get into what my child likes’.” He quoted.

I scrunched up my face. “When have you ever seen me dress myself up…like that?” I asked him. He stayed silent. “The answer’s never.” I told him, as his blush grew. “And if you ever do see me dressed like that, please tie me to my bed and call me in sick, because trust me there’s something wrong with me.”

He gave me a half smile. “Are you mad at me?” He pouted like a child, making my heart squeeze in my chest with guilt.

“I’m not mad.” I sighed. “Am I ever actually mad with you?” I asked.

“No.” He answered like a scolded child, making me roll my eyes at him.

“You’re lucky I love you so much.” I told him with a small chuckle. “Any other teenager would have snapped a photo and uploaded on Facebook.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Want me to strike a pose?” He asked, before leaning on one leg and tiptoeing with the other so he was leaning forwards, and placed a finger to his lips in a shushing motion.

My lips wobbled as I held in my laugh. “You need your head tested.” I said.

“Not good enough?” He asked. “What about this?” This time he flipped his head back placing one and lightly on his forehead and one on his hip in a diva pose.

I couldn’t hold in my laughter anymore. “Jealous of how ‘amazeballs’ I look?” He joked.

I groaned loudly. Ever since had heard my friend say that to me over the phone he had never let it drop. He constantly teased me with it, and no matter how much I tried getting him to stop he would just say I was trying to ‘cramp his style’ and he was ‘so totes cool’ (another phrase he had picked up off my friends) with the ‘young kids lingo’.