Anybody who knows me personally also knows the kind of equation me and my mother share. Its based on a pulsing and vibrant mesh of loathing that has somehow trapped our love into this tiny little bubble that only presents itself during near death situations.
This is a brief (almost) conversation we had yesterday:
Me: I want a nose piercing.
Me: Is that an yes or a no?
Mom: That's a no.
Me: Since when is hmm a no?
Mom: Since yesterday.
Me: Ma pleaseeeeee.
Mom: I said NO.
Me: Of course, you said no. What else do you say, you...
Mom: Don't talk to me like that.
Me: Ok, sorry.
Mom: What now?!
Me: Pleeaassee. I'll do anything, anything you want.
Mom: Ok. How about you top this semester?
Me: Anything apart from that.
Mom: Of course not. I stated my terms.
Me: But that's not fair! You know that's not gonna happen!
Mom: And why is that?
Me: I don't want to! I mean, I can't! Oh, pleaasseee Ma!
Mom: Don't waste your time.
Me: But you have one! Grandma has one! Every frickin female in this family has one!
Mom: Oh, I didn't ask my mother. I just went out with a friend, got it done and came home.
Mom: She scolded me.
Me: Umm, is that supposed to give me ideas?
Mom: Yes. I'm not as nice as my mother. I'll kick you out.
Me: Please, I'll wear the tiniest diamond in the world. Or silver. Or anything.
Mom: I have to go out.
GAME. SET. MATCH.
Fine! One day, when you'll see me as a crack-addict with multiple piercings in unmentionable anatomical areas and living in sin with four men and a woman you'll realize your mistake.
But by then it'll be too late.
south bank, london.
1 week ago