So, my
life isn't funny – it's kind of depressing actually, but I do have some ummmm,
amusing…yes...amusing (yet absurd) stories. O.K. then, let's begin.
The
first thing you should know is that my parents got divorced when I was really
young. At the age of 14 I decided to live with my father after years of living
with my mom. He said that 'we would have fun: “you can stay up late! You can have PIZZA!” OMIGOD daddy, I'll be
there! I can't even wait to spend time with you, Abigail and Bitter-Face! That's
his wife's nick name as it became to be from that time on…
So, day one
in crazy-town, at about 8:00 AM:”IT'S LATE! WAKE UP! WE'RE CLEANING!!!” on a
Saturday, it's GOD'S day… as I'm dragging myself from my bed toward the
kitchen, and I was craving for some caffeine: ”where's the milk?” I ask.
“Right
there!”
– “This
is cow's milk…I drink soy”
– “We
don't have any.”
– “But…”
– “Here's
the vacuum cleaner!”
– “I can
see that… can I please have my coffee first?”
– “Clean-your-room!”
So I
gave up the coffee, tied up my un-brushed hair in a bun and grabbed the fancy
vacuum-cleaner. Apparently, a very special brand, we used it twice a week,
whether I was forced to, or just agreed to. After pretending to cleaning my
small and messy room, I was assigned to dust the living room, which was filled
with stupid, hideous knick-knacks, including a small coffee table in the form
of a naked, big-boobed woman, yuk. A short, big-boobed women as a coffee table.
How appropriate! When I finished dusting, (on a good day, I even got to polish
all the wooden tables!), It was a normal Saturday at the Karni residence.
When you
move, you think that things will get better. Well let me tell you: I got REALLY
GOOD at cleaning tables, scrubbing tubs, dusting, and cleaning… oh, did I
mention Cinderella…for some reason she comes to mind…wouldn't you agree? Every
day I would come home from school to Miss Bitter-Face and my little sister
Abigail, who became more and more like her psychotic mother – scary. Bitter-Face
would welcome me with a bright smile and a casual small talk. On Wednesdays we
would have a sandwich for lunch. “What are you doing?!” she yelled at me, “What?”
I asked, puzzled. “Lunch. Now.” – “I know that. I'm warming it up…” – “get out
of the kitchen! I'll fix you a sandwich!” I went to my room and watched another
episode of “Grey's Anatomy”, someone was about to die when the door blasted
open, I jumped. “WHERE ARE YOU?!” – “here…” – “lunch. Come.” Miss Bitter-Face
always looked like something was up her butt. She was a skinny and bitter, a
very bitter woman. When she walked passed you, you actually felt like you had passed
an AC. She's wasn't a nice person, she never was, on the one and only time when
my friends came over – Bitter-Face and Abigail left the house. Anyway, my
friends and I were making cookies – it was a sin to have
sugar in the house. I felt like SUCH A REBEL!
When she
came back, it was before we didn't have a chance to clean the battlefield:”WHAT
THE HECK?! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?! EVERYTHING IS DIRTY! OMIGOD! GET OUT! CLEAN UP!
NOW!” I became as pale as snow, shaking. My friend held my hand and told her
that we'll clean everything up – she mumbled some curses in French and with
wrath grabbed the vacuum-cleaner and screamed at all three of us to “OUT OF MY
WAY!” I tried helping the Medusa but she pushed me away. Rude? Anyway it was
the last time my friends came over, they told me that they loved me but can't
stay there, mainly because of the smell.
“What
smell?” I asked.
“Poison,
she smells like poison.”
My
father came home late as usual that day, I saw him only 3 hours a day, so
basically Bitter-Face raised me. I could tell she didn't like me, everyone
asked me why I don't just slap her across the face or talk back to her, the
thing is… I didn't care. She was an absolute bit** no, I can't say that, I mean
– yeah she is, but… I don't even care. So I put up with her s**t a whole year
before I snapped. At that point my Mom had already come back, I called her
crying for help, “We'll be there in an hour.”
So, smiling,
I let my father and Bitter-Face know that I won't be scrubbing bathtubs or
getting my non-visible-to-the-human-eye hair out of the drain, “I'm moving out!”
I said to my father without any emotion.
I
finished packing, and by 20:45 I had all my belongings in the lobby – my father
insisted on helping me with the
bags. When my family pulled over, me and my brother stuffed the trunk as fast
as lightning – like in all these action movies; when the guy is running to save
his girl? Just, like that. And without a word, not even a goodbye hug, my
father watched our car drive away.
כינוי:
Rhiannon
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