"NNNNNnooooo,
Daddy", I groan, as I snatch my novel out of your hands and rest it
back, open, on the table in from of me. "I have to read this for
CLASSSSS!."
"And
you will read it when you're finished eating. NOT at this dinnertable",
you repeat for the millionth time, this time grabbing the book and
slamming it hard on the table., the sounds making my shoulders jump, and I let out an involuntary little gasp.
"What
kinds of things have they been teaching you over here. WHERE have your
manners gone?" You stare hard at me so long that I begin to wonder if
you actually expect an answer."Now eat your dinner before it gets cold,"
you finally say. "I have a good mind to ring up that school and ask
them just what kind of etiquette training they offer there," you grumble
under your breath.
I sigh loudly and roll my eyes in the most condescending fashion I can
muster."DAD, we don't get TRAINING in that. It's just a boarding school,
not a finishing school. Guh-OD."
Having completed my savagely rude comment, I go back to
enthusiastically eating my spaghetti and fake meatballs. (The fake
meatballs that you had had to run out and buy at the last minute to
replace the real meatballs when you learnt that I no longer 'consume the
flesh of poor slain creatures'.)
You
watch me eat and wonder where your sweet, well-behaved, obedient,
12-year-old from last year went, and who this god awful 13-year-old brat
is. You had planned to come to Canada to lavish presents and fun times
on your sweet little Lolita (to make up for the fact that she had been
shipped off to a Canadian boarding school) but instead you might have to
spend the whole two weeks with the girl over you knee spanking the
rudeness out of her. In fact, right after dinner, you might start doing
just that.
Just
as you finish that thought, your attention is torn away as you witness
me do a huge burp, grinning at you proudly as though I expected praise.
No comments:
Post a Comment