“This instant coffee tastes like total fucking shit. I’m serious,” I told my mom. “Really. Why do you buy this crap?”
“It’s cheaper, honey.”
“But, like, coffee is one of those things that it’s, like, good to spend money on.”
“Times are tough, sweetheart. Everybody’s made sacrifices.” That was always the line she used to justify her terrible taste and inability to stock the house with a decent cup of coffee, but I knew she was full of shit. A decent pound at the grocery store—and I’m not even talking about like gourmet coffee or whatever—is what, like 2 dollars more expensive than this instant abortion she forces on me every time I come home? Fucking A, mom, what the hell. It’s like, I travel so fucking far from college to come home and see her over Christmas when I could be in Cancun with my boyfriend and this is the welcome I get? Unfuckingbelievable. Is she just trying to push me away? Am I invisible? Do my needs not count?