The Cupcake Theory

41) Rebels Shouldn't Play Charades

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41) Rebels Shouldn't Play Charades

I've always imagined that if I was in a movie I would be the socially awkward friend that isn't a part of the main plot line but I do get to make an inspiring speech to help everybody find the true meaning of life in the end.

But as I walk through my front door with scraped knees and a ripped shirt I feel like I could be that super cool chick who gets into fights, rides a motorbike and does rebellious stuff like drinking juice straight from the bottle. All I need is a wind machine, rock music and a slow-mo camera to complete my awesome entrance. I would have kicked the door down but considering last time I tried to do that I twisted my ankle and dent in the sliding door I don't think it's the wisest decision.

My mum stops in the hallway scanning me from top to bottom "Honey what happened to you?" I survey my appearance and it dawns on me that I have blood running down both my legs and my shirt is not only slightly ripped but has a nice hole where my pocket usually is.

I hide my limp by leaning against the wall like a super cool person, "I got into a fight."

Mum steps forward and checks me for any major damage "A fight? With who? Why?"

"I attacked the road."

She gives me a questionable look "Is that someone's nickname or do you mean the cement road cars drive on for transport."

"The last one."

"Well, I think we all know who won the fight don't we?"

"I did leave a little blood on the road as a reminder to my enemies not to mess with me. Plus it's not my fault there was a slight ditch that's invisible to the naked eye."

"So you tripped over a small hole in the middle of the road and left blood to keep any enemies away?" she double checks to make sure she's got my story right.

"There may also have been a tow bar involved," the round purple bruise on my leg can speak for itself.

"What about your shirt? Your pocket is ripped off. How did that happen?"

I look down to find the material that is usually sewn to my shirt now dangling by a thread. "Well, when I was walking home I walked into a spider web which made me walk into a tree resulting in me getting caught onto a branch that tore through my pocket. Me and nature don't really like each other at the moment."

"Okay go clean yourself up, you look like you've walked through the valley of death. I don't know how you get yourself into those types of situations. You're such a troublemaker." She nudges me playfully.

A thought runs through my mind "Did you ever worry that I would become a rebellious teenager? Like I would be super moody and sneak out with my boyfriend that you don't approve of?"

Her answer is clear as day when she laughs "No, we were always more worried you'd severely injure yourself in some absurd way or that you'd become a crazy cat lady. Becoming a rebellious teenager was never on our list of worries. As you can tell you turned out almost completely fine."

I'm slightly offended right now "What's wrong with being a crazy cat lady? Wait are you implying I can't be rebellious?"

"No, I mean-"

I silence her by covering her mouth with my hand, which I instantly regret "Challenge accepted mum." I turn away dramatically "You don't know me. The world is a dark place. I'm going to tweet something that will knock people's socks off." That reminds me I need to get twitter.