In Which Goodbyes Are Seriously Not That Fun

Goodbyes are sort of not fun?

I dunno actually, Mr. Pete from the apartment next door says they're nice, but what does he know? He doesn't like physical contact. I sometimes ask Old Josie from the apartment in front of ours and she says they're sad. I just nod at this and go off my merry way. Sometimes I ask my mom about that bu she just gives me this look and tells me-

"Felicia, did you clean your room?"

Oh no, mom's here. I frantically look everywhere, seeing the mess that covered my room. Oh no, she'll flip if I don't clean this up. I've got about probably fifteen seconds before she goes inside here, I think I could clean up a little.

Quickly, I dive and throw all my clothes in the laundry basket. I frantically grab all the tissues and throw them in the garbage can, note to self; donut ever marathon chick flicks ever again. I make my bed clumsily and start counting the seconds before she barges into my room.

5, good not yet here.

4, fluff the damn pillows Felicia!

3, throw that Reese wrapper in the trash, where it belongs!

2, Almost here, just clean that up-

"Felicia!" One, mom barges inside, looking at my probably clean room and smiles, "You just cleaned."

"I didn't! I cleaned after you left-"

"Don't go and try to hide it Feli." My mom just raises an eyebrow crossing her arms. Sighs, you can never hide anything from my mom, either that or it's really showing that I didn't clean up. "Now go and actually clean! When I go back here, I expect this to clean." She points to the room for exaggeration before turning around and sashaying out of the room and into the kitchen to cook.

Gotta love my mom.

My name's Felicia, just a young kid tryin to-

Fine I'll take this seriously. My name's Felicia, an twenty-something chick who don't want to think that she's an adult now. I don't want to venture outside my room yet, I want to explore the familiar adventures of home, with my damn family.

I get scoffed at by the mothers in the supermarket, I get laughed at by the men in bars, but I really don't care. I'm happy and that's what counts... right?

I clean my room up properly, like what mom said indirectly. I wonder what she'll make for dinner today, I hope it's not something cheesy. I don't like cheese.

Cheese is not the "bomb", don't believe anything they say. Cheese is probably the conspiracy that's true, I'll be the first one laughing when they finally reveal that cheese is something that the government uses to mind control us.

All the president's fault.

I go to the kitchen to assist my mom to cook, (and make the food cheese-free) she's wearing her "Kiss the Cook" Apron, with a spatula in hand. She looks quite cartoonish like this, like those stereotypical moms from movies.

"Feli," She suddenly says as I prepare the table, "Your twenty one right now, don't you think it's time to find a job and move outta here?"

What sort of buffoonery is this? I like it here and I won't get out here and-

Oh.

I see how this is. This is the weird plot shit that authors everywhere uses to move the plot forward, rather than backwards. Damn you author from above!

"What you sayin mom?" I reply, hand in hips. Unfortunately for the author above I actually know how to fight this weird plot shit, "You tellin me that, I don't have a job?"

"Well do you?" Damn it, got me right there. Shoulda known she'd use this tactic. I scoff and look at her straight in the eye.

"I do now." I storm out of that room and straight to my bedroom. My alcove of happiness, the huzzah of my world. Where shit don't happen. The blanket to the theoretical scared child in the theoretical bed. I plummet to my bed and sit straight to open my laptop.

Time to search for a job.