Then, Carl brought his edgy girlfriend home. She glared at me, her receding hairline pulled back in a ponytail. And where did she get that shirt, the sale rack at hot topic? I scoffed.
"Dad, meet Enid," Carl introduced.
"Carl, he killed our community," this "Enid" said.
"Son, we need to talk," I said, pulling my gothic son into the living room. Enid could make small talk with Lucille.
"I thought I told you no dating until you were 30," I told him bluntly, disapprovingly folding my arms over my leathery chest.
Carl rolled his eyes. I had a jarring feeling I wasn't being taken seriously. "Sorry, son. I don't trust your impulses, especially after you dyed your hair. Your emo girlfriend will have to go back to Rickland," I ordered.
"Don't talk about my dad like that," he mumbled.
"Haha! I didn't talk about myself!" I chuckled. However, I knew deep down that he resented me. My feelings were slightly hurt. I adjusted my coy red scarf, which was tucked neatly under my leather jacket. That reminds me of my poem I wrote. I cleverly came up with it myself. I wrote it on a paper so I always have it with me:
I wear a leather jacket,
I have Lucille,
And my n*t sack is made of steel
Carl interrupted my thoughts. "Just stay out of my business, ok?" he asked, sulking out of the room.
