I’ve decided that we must be living in some kind of crazy parallel universe. You’re in the one where I live to serve you, and I’m in the one called “my mom sucks.”
Call me crazy, but I’m pretty sure that I’ve been running my @$ off for you for the last two weeks. We’ve shopped for apartment necessities; college necessities; beauty necessities; and other things you “can’t live without", and I'm doing it all with my rolled quarters, a wing and a prayer.
I’ve carried an innumerable amount of boxes, crates and baskets down three flights of steps and up another four with a knees that are screaming and a lower back that is beginning to remind me that I'm no spring chicken. I’ve picked you up every day for “one more errand” for the last six days, without complaint; all the while knowing that I have a million other things I should be doing for ME, and that tiny thing I call a job.
When you asked me to do your laundry last Saturday night at 9:00 p.m., and informed me that you hoped it would be done and folded by 9:00 a.m. the next morning did I complain? No. In fact, I’m pretty sure I said, “Thank you may I have another.”
So when you threw a major hissy fit Sunday morning screaming at the TOP OF YOUR LUNGS that I had “ruined ALL OF YOUR CLOTHES” when I inadvertently put them in the dryer at midnight, I was confused.
I thought, perhaps, that you were going to thank me.