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Tony Grist

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Click! [Oct. 20th, 2013|09:55 am]
Tony Grist
Some men in masks board an underground train. A woman is tracking them. They carry identical attache cases. Are they suicide bombers? They catch sight of her. She punches the alarm. All hell breaks loose.

And my mother switches the TV off.

As I expected she would. Anything too fruity; click. Anything unfamiliar: click. Her remote, her rules.

"I don't know what that was," she says in an affronted tone.

"Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D" I say.

"How on earth do you know?"

"Because they just told us."

We've had variants on this conversation many times before. Only now there's a difference. It's not that she won't pay attention, it's that she can't.

I find it hard to accept that we've crossed that line.

[User Picture]From: chochiyo_sama
2013-10-20 10:07 pm (UTC)
Today, on the way home after lunch and a movie with my mom and aunt and uncle, we went by an auction place where they had a line of brightly colored golf carts--painted in sticky-sweet jelly bean colors.

Pointing at the pink one I say, jovially and facetiously, "My birthday is coming up, and that bright pink golf cart would make a lovely gift!"

My mom responded bitterly and hatefully, "Where in the hell do you think you'd keep THAT?"

Me, trying to keep the just-for-fun vibe I started with, "As long as I am fantacizing, I'll just add a large, roomy garage to my fantasy."

I get so sick of her being rude, nasty, and shitty to me all the time.
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[User Picture]From: poliphilo
2013-10-21 07:41 am (UTC)
My parents were never nasty to me. They just ignored me- and sent me off to be expensively educated at a place far from home.
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