I'm No Cinderella

Chapter 1

The big TWO FIVE; just the sound of that word gives me the shudders.  No, unfortunately it is not the size of my waist and luckily not the size of my boobs either, but it is my age. Or the number I will be turning into in less than eighteen months. Frankly I couldn't care less what age I'm turning into, but apparently it's an issue for my over bearing mother.

I dreaded walking into the house after so long only to hear her rant on and on about the impending doom of my future children. Apparently she believes that my biological clock is ticking (Which is somewhat true) and that I'm wasting my time proof-reading other people's words instead of going out there and finding someone who, quote, would sow my seed. I didn't come up with those words but she did.  She's always, "Samantha, get your butt out of the house and get a life," or "You're never going to marry if you work in that same old dusty place."

                    I work about an hour and a half away from where my parents live and with my somewhat average salary, managed to rent an apartment only about twenty minutes bus ride distance away from my office. When I first moved out, my parents were not happy about it. Well my dad didn't really care as long as there was food on the table and TV to watch. Since I've never cooked for him so there was little he would miss when I moved out.

                    My mom on the other hand, almost went hysterical when I broke the news of finding an apartment. I was quite surprised as I thought she wanted me out of the house. Apparently I was filling up too much space in our quite medium sized house. All I do is travel to work and come back home to be cooped up in my room. I never get in her way yet I was a waste of space. So, I was pretty surprised at her show of emotion.

"I thought you'd be happy if I left," I asked her, about a week before I moved out, watching her chop some carrots for our dinner that day.

"Which mother would be happy to let her daughter go," she cried out, the knife dangling precariously from her hand that I impulsively moved backwards, "tell me and I will ask that woman whether she loved her daughter or not!"

"Mom, it's just a half an hour drive away!"

"It might as well be the end of the world!" she said, looking murderously into our living room, "Who am I going to talk to? Your dad's eyes are practically glued to the television and your brother rarely stays at home."

My brother was in high school finishing his senior year, and to him, being at home equals to NO LIFE – which he always said to my face when he sees me at home. Well, I do have a life. I do go out, and I do have friends. If you call going to the mall to see a movie alone is life. Well, not all my friends are free all the time. My closest friends are in different parts of the country.

"You can always call me," I say, reaching for a carrot and munching on it.

"You never let me call you when you're at work," she whined as she placed all the carrot into a bowl and started to chop some broccoli.

"Of course you can't call me at work," I said, walking to the fridge to drink from the bottle of water I kept in there, "I'm working. You can call me after work."

"What's the point," she said, chopping the broccoli grudgingly, "You come back at six and I have my own programs to watch at the time. That's the only time your dad lets me watch the TV."

My dad has a routine of going to the toilet at six and he'd be in there for hours at a time, doing his business and reading the newspaper back to back. You'd think he'd find some other place to read the paper. Oh, yeah both my parents are retired. Dad used to work as a small company dispatch boy or man while mom used to sew. She still sews now, but rarely as she can't see that clearly anymore.  They are living off my dad's retirement insurance and the money that I give them monthly. We're not really a well to do family. We don't even own the house we live in. It is my father's uncle's house and we pay rent to him monthly.