Kid:
Can I get my eyes checked? Things are starting to get blurry.
Parent:
-Sighs loudly- Stop complaining already, you don't need glasses.
Kid:
It's really hard for me to breathe sometimes. Do I have asthma?
Parent:
For the last time you don't have asthma. Maybe if you worked out a bit more you could breathe better.
Kid:
Can you wait for the allergy medicine to kick in? The pollen and dust makes my nose really itchy.
Parent:
I have allergies too and you don't see me complaining.
Kid:
I think I might be depressed...
Parent:
What are you sad about? You have a good life.
Kid:
I think I might have anxiety issues...
Parent:
What do you have to be anxious or stressed about?
Kid:
My chest hurts.
Parent:
You're such a hypochondriac.
Kid:
Can I see a therapist?
Parent:
Why? So you can tell them about how much you hate us?
Kid:
-Doesn't do all the dishes/chores expertly-
Parent:
You are the fucking laziest person I have ever met!
Kid:
-Does a lot of extra chores very nicely-
Parent:
-Doesn't say a word-
Kid:
I really want to focus on my school work more...
Parent:
You're doing a sport.
Kid:
-Listens to music they like-
Parent:
How are you even part of this family?
Kid:
I don't really believe in God...
Parent:
-Looks up Christian camps to send them-
Kid:
I think I like this person (of the same sex)
Parent:
You are NOT dating them. As long as you're under this roof you are straight. Wait, scratch that, I'm not going to support you through college if that's what you're going to be doing. That's so wrong.
Kid:
-Tries to act more like who they feel on the inside-
Parent:
I don't like it. You should do more of this, and that.
The Tupperware cupboard is the American, middle-class, suburban equivalent to the Viet Cong’s punji sticks.
Find a spot to cram whatever container you’re trying to put away, cross yourself, and RUN. And pray for the next sorry soul that needs to put away their leftover slices of pizza.
