Tell them to be careful
The family has just finished dinner and we’re all sitting and standing around the table. I have already started to clean up and putting things in the sink to wash.
While I’m walking back and forth, my mother asks me if I have any plans for the weekend. I tell her that I’m going out on Saturday, and she doesn’t believe me. She thinks I’m lying, as usual.
“You know what?” I tilt my head to the side, my tone peeved, “I’m going to start telling you lies whenever you ask me something to see whether or not you’ll believe me then. Because, from the sounds of it, you never believe me when I tell you the truth,” I say in one breath.
“Fine. You’re going out. So, where are you going?” she asks, exhaling.
“I’m going to have dinner with S and a friend because it’s her birthday.”
“In Toronto, right?” She raises an eyebrow out of suspicion.
“Of course, in Toronto. That’s where our friend lives.” I scrunch my face and raise my left eyebrow because I haven't trained my right eyebrow to arch accordingly.
“You better be careful,” says my father, still munching on a piece of meat. I’m just waiting for him to tell me that there are people that can kill me if I’m not vigilant. This conversation has been playing on repeat for the past 20 years, and the needle on the record still hasn't work itself out.
“Of course, we’ll be careful. It’s not like we’ve never been in Toronto before.” Did he also forget that I work in the city and spend most of my day there?
“No, not because of that. The streets are really slippery.”
“Who cares if the streets are slippery. I’m not driving.” He looks up at me with a face of incredulity.
“Well, you should still know that you shouldn’t be driving – “ I cut him off.
“Dad, I’m not driving. S is picking me up and she’s driving there. If you want to tell someone to be careful while driving on the highway, tell S, not me.”
“Well – “ I cut him off, again.
“Dad, when S comes to pick me up, tell her to be careful when driving. It’s not going to make a difference if you say this to me because I won’t be behind the wheel.”
“You know what? This conversation is over. It’s no use talking to you.” When he says that he doesn’t want to talk anymore is when he knows he can’t win an argument. It’s his passive-aggressive way attempt to get the final word.
If that’s the way he wants it, that’s fine with me. I’ll just wait until Saturday to see whether, or not, he’ll dispense his sage advice to my friend. He’ll get his final word, even if he sounds like a total idiot.
While I’m walking back and forth, my mother asks me if I have any plans for the weekend. I tell her that I’m going out on Saturday, and she doesn’t believe me. She thinks I’m lying, as usual.
“You know what?” I tilt my head to the side, my tone peeved, “I’m going to start telling you lies whenever you ask me something to see whether or not you’ll believe me then. Because, from the sounds of it, you never believe me when I tell you the truth,” I say in one breath.
“Fine. You’re going out. So, where are you going?” she asks, exhaling.
“I’m going to have dinner with S and a friend because it’s her birthday.”
“In Toronto, right?” She raises an eyebrow out of suspicion.
“Of course, in Toronto. That’s where our friend lives.” I scrunch my face and raise my left eyebrow because I haven't trained my right eyebrow to arch accordingly.
“You better be careful,” says my father, still munching on a piece of meat. I’m just waiting for him to tell me that there are people that can kill me if I’m not vigilant. This conversation has been playing on repeat for the past 20 years, and the needle on the record still hasn't work itself out.
“Of course, we’ll be careful. It’s not like we’ve never been in Toronto before.” Did he also forget that I work in the city and spend most of my day there?
“No, not because of that. The streets are really slippery.”
“Who cares if the streets are slippery. I’m not driving.” He looks up at me with a face of incredulity.
“Well, you should still know that you shouldn’t be driving – “ I cut him off.
“Dad, I’m not driving. S is picking me up and she’s driving there. If you want to tell someone to be careful while driving on the highway, tell S, not me.”
“Well – “ I cut him off, again.
“Dad, when S comes to pick me up, tell her to be careful when driving. It’s not going to make a difference if you say this to me because I won’t be behind the wheel.”
“You know what? This conversation is over. It’s no use talking to you.” When he says that he doesn’t want to talk anymore is when he knows he can’t win an argument. It’s his passive-aggressive way attempt to get the final word.
If that’s the way he wants it, that’s fine with me. I’ll just wait until Saturday to see whether, or not, he’ll dispense his sage advice to my friend. He’ll get his final word, even if he sounds like a total idiot.
Authored by S at 12:00 am
5 Comments:
I think all mother's are suspicious of any truth that you tell them.
Reminds me of Toula's father in My Big Fat Greek Wedding, when she tells him she wants to go back to school and he says, "Is drugs downtown."
All parents are the same. Just tune them out.
lol.
you kids! you just don't listen anymore.
if its slippery but you won't be driving because S is doing the driving, its still slippery. so be careful!
you could still slip on the slippery streets as you try to step our of S's car anyway. did you ever think of that?
don't you EVER cut me off when I'm talking to you, sonny! i'll not stand for it. now go to your room until you're ready to act like an adult and apoligize to me and your parents.
Awe, no one knows us or our families like we do. It makes me laugh, because it is so familiar. My dad never says anything even since my parents divorced and My Mom is rarely nice to anyone. Have fun in Toronto. 8-)
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