Crazy Talk

I drove to my parent's house last night, otherwise known as the funhouse, if drilling holes into the sides of your head is fun. (I had to, ok? I needed a ton of my things that they still had.) Mom was still at work (an act of God all on its own), but Dad followed me around the house as I scrounged up everything I had written on a list. The mission: Get in, Get out. The following is a glimpse of my dad, my actual dialogue, and and my inner devil.

*burrowing in the downstairs closet*

Hi.
Hi.
Here we go.
How do you like the new job?
It's fine. New culture, lots of people. Some people bother me, but all in all I like it.
*blank stare* WHAT is that smell?
Huh?
*sniff* UGH you reek! Have you been around people who smoke?!
I can't smell anything, but maybe I wore this shirt to Jason's. Everyone he knows smokes except for him and his mom.
You know full well that Jason's family and friends smoke. It's a nasty habit, I KNOW. Personally I prefer their bad habits over yours.

*burrowing in my room upstairs*

How's the back? Are you swimming? Are you going to the chiropractor? Don't you love the chiropractor?
NO, dad, I'm really very busy. I'm handling it though, I'll let you know what happens. And no, I never loved the chiropractor.
You JUST asked me the same questions yesterday. Get a new topic. Except for bowel movements, I don't like prune conversations.
How do you like the job?
As I said earlier...
Dejavu.
Has mom mentioned anything about a check?
What check?
I did some business with her. She owes me some money, but it's been a while and she hasn't paid.
What's the big deal? So she hasn't paid you. She's busy.
I did work for her. She needs to pay me. Is this how she treats her clients?
I'm not a fucking child! I do REAL work. Work that does not involve Barbies or Playdoh.
You're not a client. You're our daughter. Geez, if we were really doing business, I should be charging you for all kinds of things.
You know what, dad, forget I mentioned it.
Can I charge you for emotional abuse and unhygienic cooking for 22 years?

*back in the downstairs closet*

Seriously, you smell like a chimney. GROSS.
Sigh.
You smell like grease and poop.

*burrowing in the kitchen pantry*

So are you coming with me to Kings Island this Saturday or not?
I guess so, as long as I can be back before 5. I'd like to have time left to hang out with Jason.
Oh God, I said the "J" word in front of him. Brace for missile launch!
*Stiff silence* Oh. Jason, huh? Are you guys still spending the night over whole weekends?
Actually, we only see each other once a week now.
Patience waning...
But you guys ARE spending the night?
I SAID we see each other ONCE a week, like ONE day a week now. You know what, dad, it's really none of your business what I do.
Shit, did I really say that?
You know, the last time I spoke with him, he said he had 2 or 3 years left in school. TWO OR THREE? WHY is it going to take THAT long?
He's an undergrad. He switched majors.
LOOK. He's 26. He's a sophomore in undergrad when most people his age are well into their careers or have PhD's. He was a druggie and an alcoholic. He was a fuck up, I GET IT ALREADY. But he cleaned up and he's going back to school AND he's working when most people would just give up. Plus, he has a good heart and he adores me. I know you hate him, I know you don't think he's good enough. But you know what? I DON'T CARE. This is MY life, this is MY man, and you WILL NOT ruin this for me!
*deep sigh of disappointment*
*Throwing things blindly into my bag*
Abort mission! Abort! Get out now!
Oh look at the time, I gotta fly. Guhbye dad, guhbye!
Red alert! Patience quota overflowing!

I threw the last bag into the trunk of my car, jumped behind the wheel, and closed my eyes. Somewhere in the back of my head, someone was laughing.