Parents

So my dad's pretty much been leaving me alone (thank God and the inventors of that drug he has to take to keep his eyeballs in their sockets), but yesterday evening Mom kept poking her head into my room to ask if my exercises were helping. I wouldn't have minded so much if she had actually opened the door or used the same hole in the wall rather than creating a new hole with every poke. And then when I complained she'd say "I paid for this house, I can do what I want in it." Moms.

I've been trying to lose all the flab in my arms by the newest Briq method: tossing pink clothes over my head. The purpose of losing arm flab is, of course, to keep my boyfriend’s attention on me and not my flab or girls named Dee.

“Maybe if you tossed purple clothing it would work better,” Mom suggested, picking up a dress my “friend” Borel lent me. “Dark and heavy always go together as concepts.”

“That’s not purple. It’s pale violet, you fashionless fool,” I said. “And I left it on the floor near the doorway for everyone to trample on for a reason.”

“I still think we should try a different color,” Mom said, looking over my shoulder as I rummaged through my closet in panic. I began to purposely jab her with my elbows to get her to move back a little, but she only moved closer to lecture me about being more careful not to hurt other people who might be peering over my shoulder or screaming in my ear to see if there was an echo inside my head. By the time she had begun to shift her lecture to her age-old complaint that I couldn’t sing as well as she could, I had a good excuse to interrupt her.

“All my clothes have turned gray,” I gasped.

“Turn on your closet light, whale-arms.”

I did so and then exclaimed, “My light’s gray too!”

“Golly, Jolly, your whole closet is covered in soot,” Mom pointed out as if I hadn’t been the one to call her attention to that fact.

“I knew we should have left this corner as a chimney,” I said, closing my closet door and turning to her. “I know. Let’s set my closet on fire and toast marshmallows.”

“Ack! The very thought makes me turn cross-eyed,” said Mom, throwing up her hands. “You’ll never lose arm flab that way.”

She left my room and went downstairs to join my dad and my boyfriend Jiff. I heard Dad say to her, “Cheer up. Jolly’s boyfriend gets cross-eyed sometimes too.”

“Golly, Mr. Rogers, I didn’t know you had a twin,” said Jiff.

I could hear Mom seething as she said, “Your hat is on backwards, nerd-boy. And while you’re waiting for Jolly you have plenty of time to get a life.”

I rushed down the stairs before she could bash Jiff anymore.

“Jolly!” Mom nearly screamed, backing away from me and stumbling backwards down the steps. “You know I’m afraid of pink-and-black checkered jackets!”

“That’s why I’m wearing several,” I said, spreading out my arms to display them. “I wanted to watch you cry in terror.”

Jiff took my sweaty hand and pulled me down the steps.

“Don’t ever come back,” Mom called after us.

“Why is your pooping hat on backwards, Jiff?” I asked after we had left the house. I didn’t want to mention such a personal matter in front of my parents. Jiff’s pooping hat is our own private joke.

“I put it on that way so the poop falls in my face when we smooch romantically.”

As usual, neither of us had any ideas about what to do or where to go on our date, especially since neither of us can drive and it's hard for both of us to balance on Jiff's skateboard at once. So our date consisted of sneaking into the bushes at the side of my house and spying on my parents while I was “gone.” The date didn’t last very long, thanks to the following conversation:

“I don’t know how to get my eyes back to normal. Help!” Mom whimpered, still cross-eyed.

“Forget that,” said Dad. “Jolly’s gone. Let’s clap our hands and sway. It’s a beautiful world, and the walls keep changing colors.”

Mom threw a pale violet sofa pillow at Dad’s head, knocking out his good eye and dislocating his shoulder.

“Hey!” he exclaimed. “I’ll let you off the hook for that if you help me find my eye.”

“I think you stepped on it, but Jolly has eyeball gum in her room,” said Mom.

Of course I had to intercede to forbid the misuse of my eyeball gum and to help Dad get his eye back in. I was so relieved to get out of those heavy, roasting pink-and-black checkered jackets that I completely forgot about Jiff. Hope he's not too pissed off about that. Tee hee!