"Clean" is Subjective
Two Queens can’t rule a castle.
Tension hung in the air between us, thicker than pea soup. I boldly faced my adversary over the gulf of half-naked Barbie dolls separating us, arms akimbo and a petulant expression of defiance on my four-year-old features.
“Jessica Lynn, I thought I told you to straighten up your room.” My mom’s voice had that flat, bland tone of infinite patience that told me she had just run out of it.
“I did!” Stamping my foot, I pointed to a small haphazard pile of dolls in the corner, attired as painstakingly as a restless child could manage, “I straightened up all these.”
“That’s… not exactly what I meant. I told you to clean your room. You’re not getting supper until it’s done.”
“Why, you… you…”
I jutted my lower lip out further, chubby fists planted firmly on my hips. This odious woman, this disrupter of my plans, how dare she require me to take time out of my busy schedule of cicada collecting and grinding Play-Doh into the carpet to tell me to clean my room?
“…You…!”
I was fuming. Furious. Enraged. I also knew that I was ultimately powerless, and I needed an insult that could perfectly convey the full spectrum of my anger and contempt with one swift, crushing blow. I’d heard swearwords on TV before, but I also knew that if I used any of them I’d go supperless that night, regardless of the relative cleanliness of my domicile.
“You…!”
No. I needed something that wasn’t a curse word, while describing something so obnoxious, so irritating to deal with, so annoying, so stupid looking…
Finally, as my gaze lit upon my “Now I Can Write!” composition book, it hit me.
“… You capital letter R!”
I must’ve wounded the poor woman to the quick, because she hurried out of my room as fast as she could, one hand clamped over her mouth to stifle stunned, grief-stricken laughter.
… She still made me clean my room, though. And then supper turned out to be chicken alfredo anyway.
Totally not worth it.
Add your comment
You need to login or signup to add your comment to this work.