Doesn’t She Know It’s Almost 7:00pm: Mom Just Won a Prestigious Literary Accolade. Which We’ll Congratulate Her For Once She Gets Some Damn Dinner on the Table.
Okay, I’m officially pissed off. My idiot mom has seriously done it again, y’all.
It’s 6:45pm and there is not even a hint of dinner in this house. Why? Because Mom is “busy” taking a “work call” with her “literary agent,” who keeps bugging her because her dumbass short story was selected for the fucking “O. Henry Prize.” Wow, great, Mom won a “prize,” just like my little sisters do every day for tying their shoes in elementary school. And here everyone is acting like it’s some big whoop? I’m supposed to care, uh, why exactly?!
Mind you, I literally had to go to school at 6:30am today for fucking Driver’s Ed, which was dumb, again. Red means stop, green means go, wow, mind blown. And to add freaking insult to injury, I got in trouble because I had zero hours on my driving practice log this week–yet another ball dropped on the part of good ol’ Mom. Then, I had LaCrosse practice, where not only was I bravely using heroism to push through an agonizing injury (a literal Charlie Horse, ever heard of it?), I was being tortured verbally by my teammates because I was being “loserish.” Fuck those guys… and as if that wasn’t hell-on-Earth enough, my idiot coach told me to eat a banana to help my Charlie Horse. The most penis-shaped fruit ever. You better believe I didn’t hear the end of that verbal whalloping from my peers. You’d think after taking that kind of beating, I’d deserve a nice dinner, right?
But no. No one is even in the kitchen other than me, where I’ve been waiting patiently for hours. No freakin’ dice. Here I am, Mom’s oldest and only son, and she gives no fucks about me. What is the point of me being on this Earth? I thought I gave Mom’s life purpose, but no. I swear, she doesn’t even know I exist at this point. This is just like that time she made Dad pick me up from school because the University where she works was “holding a ceremony to honor her achievements in teaching.” Please. What a load of bologna.
Dad is fucking crying like a pussy because he’s “so proud of Mom.” Are you joking me? What a loser. I know for a fact he didn’t even cry when I graduated middle school. Not a single tear. The fuck? I’m actually so fed up with this family, like, how about we make a big effing deal once Mom gets a prize for writing an actual book, not just a …short story? Get real.
My sisters are being so annoying trying to get me to make dinner myself, which like, what? That’s just insane; why would I make dinner when Mom is literally at home, and fully could do it if she actually, oh, I don’t know, loved me?
I’m so hungry and I’m so, so alone. And you know what, the worst part is that I’d be thrilled to give Mom whatever praise her “artist” ego needs. I know some people need to be coddled and given attention, unlike me. So sure Mom, I’ll give you your flowers, once my belly is full. Hell, not even full, just not screamingly empty. But for now, I’ll remind you that I’m supposed to be your first priority, not some fucker named Henry. Me. Then Dad, then my sisters. FEED ME!!!