My Pizza Guy. (editing)

11 ~ Turkey For Lunch

** Hello!!!!! XD I know I'm late. But this chappie was prone to be updated on a Sunday. :p

Tehehehee. I'm an Einstein of my own world, ain't I? :D

Eh, no. -.-

Buh anyfaze, read on! ^-^ **

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No, It's Not Thanksgiving. -__-

"Holy--"

"Watch it!" Mom gasped as I regained my balance with the turkey tray in my weak hands, while I just stopped short of cursing out loud.

Meh. What a bummer. My conscience rolled her eyes.

My conscience had been very moody from the moment I opened my eyes this morning.

Well, maybe because;

1) I hadn't slept until 6.45am and my alarm clock gave me a heart attack at 7.30am.

2) I found out that my chocolate cupcake had been swallowed by the fridge itself. You know that feeling when you have the taste in your mouth and your salivary glands are more than ready to semi dissolve your favourite snack; when suddenly, you find out that your favourite snack was no more. That feeling; hurts. Like a bitch.

3) I found out later that Drea was to blame for point no. 2. Not the fridge. That made my conscience's rage multiply by a hundred thousand. Because I could do nothing about it. For the cupcake was now going to be part of Drea's shit, not mine. Disgusting as it is, it is also, painfully true.

4) Mom made me help her with the turkey. I had no objection to it, but my conscience had its own view. Besides, it told me, it ain't Thanksgiving, is it?

5) I hadn't gotten ready and Nick was expected to come at 1 pm. That means, I had half hour to dolly up. Which was partly impossible.

So, yeah.... my conscience was angry, making every word, a stupid combination of irritation and sarcasm.

She was right for point no. 4, I guess. Partly. Because it really wasn't Thanksgiving.

"I want it to be perfect," Mom said. "I don't want you two to end. Not like this. Not, never." She added.

Why is she so enthusiastic about this? I asked myself. Neither I, nor the three inner voices had an answer to it.

"Why do you want us to last, so badly?" I blurted out. Ugh, stupid curiosity.

She paused. Literally. She was beating eggs and she stopped.

"Mom?" I said.

She sighed. "Because I don't want destiny to repeat itself."

What? My conscience said.

What? My brain said.

What? My heart said.

"What?" I said. I bulged my eyes at her in shock.

Yeah. Raping the word 'what' is something I'm used to now. You should get used to it too.

Mom started beating the eggs again. "Hand me the cornflour box." She said.

I obeyed. "What did you mean by that?"

She smirked. "I meant exactly what you understood and did: handing me the box."

"You know I'm not talking about this." I lazily said, resting my elbow on the marble counter.