After driving around for errands and marking time, I go home absolutely exhausted. I want to pass out on my bed before dinner, probably while watching the Preakness Stakes.
But do I get to go home to happy parents, or at least quiet ones? No. They weren't yelling at me, but they were annoying me nonetheless. Why? Because they went to Kohl's and Father just bought a suit for dirt cheap. You wanna see the suit? (Do I have a choice? It's either this or I get thrown out of the hosue.)
Now, you want a suit, don't you? Yeah, you want a suit! (Again, I don't have a choice.) It's a nice suit, but I don't have a compelling reason to buy one beyond the purported fact that it's on sale. But, to make them happy -- well, actually, not to piss them off -- I say yes. OK, let's go! (What, you mean now? I'm tired!) Well, OK, but that means I'm gonna exercise! (OK, Mother.)
I should've thought through the ramifications, but I wanted to get to bed so bad because my brain had already shut down. I was maybe hoping, probably thinking that I would wake up at 5 because that's when I set my phone alarm to, then I'll watch the Preakness. Didn't really matter if we went to Kohl's before or after dinner, I'll be able to watch what I want to watch and get what I consider to be a family errand done.
But after successfully passing out, I heard a knock on the door. I open the door: "What?" And it's My Father, reading something at the dinner table, telling me to get ready. Again, I should've realized that by not going now I ran into the possibility of being made to go during the Preakness. So I look at the cell; it's a quarter to 5. Post time for the race is 5:18. There's no way we'll get back in time. And so I'm already pissed.
One of the things that most pains me about being these people's child is they don't give a shit when I want to delay doing something because of something on TV. It's the fucking Preakness, for crissake, why can't go after it's over? My parents are incredibly unsentimental, especially when it comes to me.
So I'm frustrated about what I'm about to do. Add that I'm still waking from a deep nap, and I'm running on red. It's the kind of attitude I feel I need when I think My Fucking Father is coming down on me and I need to fight back. I angrily get dressed when I hear another thing that sets me off: I'm driving. Wait a second ... this is your idea, and you're making me drive? Call me an asshole, but I don't think I have to. When I get outside Mother tells me they have no room in their minivan. Whatever -- I have shit in my car and the antenna makes this whirring sound because it can't retract, and my parents are going to find out and they'll start yelling at me. That's why I hate being with them in such a confined space for so long: Nothing comes from it. As she's trying to explain and/or apologize, I clean up the backseat, like a brat. My years of living with them girded me to the potential of a fight; credit to them, possibly, for holding their tongues.
And maybe this is a sign of my maturity and/or world-weariness, but I kind of calmed down as soon as we got to Kohl's. Despite the henpecking and oddly busy traffic, once I got into the store, I had to face the fact that there was very little I could do. And if there is something I could do, I'll need to be calm, not only because I might need to excuse myself but also it helps to think when you're not panicking.
I didn't get the suit color I wanted; the only color of the brand Father recommended came in black, and hopefully the striped one I got complements the unstriped one I already have. I did my best to be helpful and not a dick. That might have helped me get the process of selecting a suit go a lot faster. If I were younger, I would have been an asshole about it.
After I picked the suit out, a thought came to me. Why don't I excuse myself, like I need to go to the bathroom, and I'll sneak out to the car to listen to the race on the radio? I looked at my watch: 5:24. They never fire off the race at post time, so I have a chance. I tell Father I have to use the bathroom, and I bolt out the door!
Neither parent sees me, thank Buddha. I get in through the passenger's side and turn on the radio. I don't hear the game in any of the three available sports-talk radio stations in the area, just the chatter of the heads. However, one of them said that, just then, Lookin At Lucky won the Preakness. Guess my ploy of hearing the race on the radio didn't work because I couldn't hear it on the radio ... which means I should be upset at my parents for pulling me out to Kohl's around the time of the race.
Whatever. Thank Buddha for the Internet, for I was able to watch the Preakness late last night, in its entirety. I kind of was assuming in the back of my head that, if worst comes to worst, I'd be able to see it on replay. It doesn't beat seeing it in real time, plus it was a pretty good race. But at least I didn't miss it. And I hope I've grown up enough to remember that.
No comments:
Post a Comment