November 23, 2010

One and Only

Last night I cut Mom and Dad off from each other. Both wanted to go to bed, but I had to provide them with a good twenty minutes of screaming after the bird aroused me from my sleep. Mom was caught in the hallway, so she sat on the floor, just outside my door. Dad sat on the floor of their bedroom, which is just beyond my room, playing a game on his phone. They could see each other, but that's all. If Mom passed in front of my door and I saw her, I definitely would not settle down. They couldn't talk to each other, either, for any sound, no matter how quiet, I could suddenly hear with precision. Both Mom and Dad impatiently waited as I tossed and turned, complained, and eventually fell back asleep.

It's all part of my ploy to convince Mom and Dad that no sibling is ever needed in this household. I am sure to keep my screams piercing and my messes out of control. As long as the living room constantly looks like a tornado hit it, and as long as the neighbors can clearly hear me, I know I'm doing my job right. Add in a few foods smashed into the carpet, couch, or Mom's clothes, particularly ones that stain, and I know I'm guaranteeing an independent, spoiled future.

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