“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?
“Whatever, mom.” I sipped the liquid shit from my cup to try and make her think I wasn’t totally livid about this, but I knew she knew I was. “Can I have the car today?”
“Well, hun, I was going to use it to go to work.”
“Oh my god, this is SO unfair. I told you yesterday that I was going out to get my nails done. You could have figured something out.”
“Sorry, but your dad’s car is in the shop, so I need to drive him to work. Then I have to get to work myself.”
“Fucking lame, mom. Totally fucking lame.”
“I’ll be home by 5 or so, you can go then.”
“Whatever.” She didn’t care about me. Did she really think that I, like, give a fuck or whatever about her job? It was a shitty job anyway. I mean, she was seriously satisfied managing that grocery store? What the fuck ever. I would never have some shitty, dead-end job like that. I knew that as soon as we graduated I would marry my boyfriend, he would go to law school, and then we’d be totally rich. I would never have to work. That shit was so lame. I could not believe that she was trying to push her petty, lower-class issues on me while I was trying to relax on vacation. So insensitive. So rude. Why the fuck did I even come home? I could be sipping margaritas on a beach in Mexico watching some Swedish fucking surfers or whatever wax their boards. Instead, I was here, in bumfuck, shithole, middle-of-nowhere Ohio wasting my precious youth away trying to convince my mom not to be such a total fucking cunt. What. Ever. “I guess I’ll just watch TV or something today. There’s no way I’ll get another appointment now. Are there any Coke Zeros left in the fridge?”
“I don’t think so, but there are plenty in the garage.”
“They’re warm?! Yuck. Can this day get any worse?”
“Put one in the freezer, dear, and put a few more in the fridge. You will survive.” I absolutely knew I was going to die that day, and she would regret drinking the last Coke Zero in the fridge. That fucking bitch. Oh my god.
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