III

  When we got to the house I was so angry I just wanted to spit. I hated this house and I especially hated the town. Why, you're probably asking, did I decide to move to Spoons in the first place? See, my mom was always hooking up with these LAME guys, and every time I tried to tell her that I'm still her special little girl and will always be her most best friend, she'd be like "but you don't understand, there's something about a man's company..." and blah blah blah. The point is, I was mad at her for not giving me the attention I obviously deserve, so I moved to Spoons so she could have time to think about what she'd done.

The house was just the same as it had been the last time I’d seen it, right down to the untouched copy of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein lying open on the kitchen counter next to a pile of well worn Harlequin Romances and the sink, which was full of dirty dishes that had probably also not been touched since my last visit.

    “Uhm, Dad? It smells like butt in here,” I complained.

    “Sorry Stells,” said Charlie as he walked past me into the living room. He plopped down and turned on the TV.

    “I’m hungry,” I said.

    “Me too,” said Charlie.
   
    “What’s for dinner?” I asked.

    “I ordered some pizza, thought you’d probably enjoy some takeout?   I mean, I’d cook something, you know I sure can’t do and done make nothing’ fancy bein’ from a small town and all.  You know how we people are.”

I rolled my eyes. He’s like, so, dumb. He doesn’t know how to cook anything. I don’t know how he would even live without me. I was about to have a tantrum and scream at him for not being able to take care of his own daughter.  Besides, I had resolved to be an independent source of inspiration for independent, strong women.. So I said,

    “Seeing that I’m the only woman in your life, I’m going to replace Mom and follow the time homoured tradition of cooking for you. You’re going to have REAL food now that I’M here. “

The End

140 comments about this story Feed