Good Grief.

1.Do What The Romans Do!

"Hey Dad, I've missed you!" I say going on to hug him.

"Me too honey!"

"Honey?! Next thing you know it'll be honey berny!"

"Now that's a great idea." He says while eying the bag on my hand, "Which book have you bought this time Bernice?"

"Ah, you know, just this bestseller by a certain Tevin Daniels, ever heard of him?"

"You know you could just have asked me for a copy right?"

"Yeah but where's the fun in that?? I want to have pride in buying my own novels, and besides, one of the perks of having my dad as an author is having the first signed copy, so go ahead." I say while handing him the book and he signs the front page by writing my name, then the date, then goes to the very last blank page and writes 'LOVE YOU SWEETIE' in his crappy handwriting.

"You should work on your handwriting young man!" I say taunting him.

"I'm not the one in school young lady!" He says handing back my novel.

He then looks at me, then the book in my hand with this certain pain, "I've worked on that particular piece for seventeen years and now is when I've finally got the courage to publish it. I gotta say I'm proud of myself."  He says chuckling painfully.

"Dad, you're a pussy." I say laughing.

That visibly lightens the mood and he nudges me playfully, not fazed by me swearing, he always says I'm just like my mom, so he let's it pass, "Well I'm not the one who is shit scared of heights."

"Understandable. But now dad unless you want me to start asking you questions about this book lemme go ahead and start reading it."

"Yeah, you go ahead, dinner in two hours."

I stand to leave and when I get to the stairs I turn around and ask him whilst laughing and wiggling my eyebrows, "Dad does mum get some in this book, seeing as it's entirely based on her."

"Bernice Daniels! You do not ask such questions!"

"Oh, so she does get some!" I now laugh at his uneasy expression while clutching my stomach. He then grabs a couch pillow and throws it in my direction while I ran to my bedroom laughing.

I get to my room, it has such a homely feel to it, serene and amazing. The walls had a forest green background with words written in cursive writing all over. The words were inspirational and funny quotes that I got to choose myself. I loved the way they had no proper arrangement, as if a writer was scribbling down ideas carelessly for a new novel. I had some written by myself with a marker, of new quotes I'd find or of something inspirational I thought of myself. I had a knack for quotes! Kill me. The ceiling was painted skillfully, of a sunset horizon, far across a lake,  trees with the most amazing leaves hanging loosely from the low branches and two horses by the side at the base of the painting. I always stared at it, especially when I was younger and scared, and my mom used to read me a bedtime story, and the moon always shone bright through my window and I'd fall into a very peaceful sleep, dreaming of unicorns and ninjas.

Yes! I had a very wild imagination! 

I threw my bag on the floor and went on to lie on my bed. I was shit tired from school. I lay there for a while before I got up to go shower.  Later, in my hot pink sweat pants-which my mom absolutely hated because of the colour-and white baggy shirt, I lay on my bed, with my 'Good Grief' novel, making a mental not to ask Dad why he chose that title.