Once upon a time, your life was perfect. Ideal! You lived in a nice house with an intact nuclear family. Everything was flowers and rainbows and sunshine, and no one ever yelled, and the food was always exactly what you wanted, and you never did anything wrong because everything was exactly the way you liked it.
(Well, you were both under 5, back then. I’m SURE it’s not that your memory is hazy or wholly manufactured; it was really JUST LIKE THAT. Obviously.)
Then, of course, everything went wrong. Your parents got divorced and life went to hell, because now nothing was perfect anymore and your horrible mother was constantly placing these ridiculous EXPECTATIONS on you, like that you would LISTEN TO HER and FOLLOW THE HOUSE RULES and EAT WHAT SHE COOKED.
Oh, the HUMANITY!
To add insult to injury, after a few years she remarried a horrible, rotten man who knows how to fix everything you break in your carelessness, who is now your preferred chef (master griller, at your service), who takes you places and teaches you things and sometimes even keeps your mother from beating you senseless. THAT JERK. Some say that your evil stepfather even loves you, which would be a fate worse than death, I am certain.
Life just hasn’t been the same since those halcyon days you can’t even remember. And to say that you are suffering a righteous indignation over this state of events would be an understatement.
Why, you are expected to get up in the morning! And get washed up! And dressed! And to come downstairs and eat the breakfast your mother has prepared for you! You then have to take the lunch that was packed by that same monster and PUT IT IN YOUR BACKPACK! It’s a wonder you don’t lose the will to live before the clock strikes 7, I tell you.
After school you are offered fruit and cheese as a snack, when CLEARLY only cookies or donuts will do. Is she trying to KILL you? And after THAT injustice, why, you have to do HOMEWORK. You know, the other kids in your class often just don’t even DO their homework, and THEIR parents don’t even care. And then to be reprimanded for going on and on about how unfair it is, well, that’s just the icing on the craptastic cake, isn’t it?
Last night at dinner some of the food was TOUCHING, and they KNOW how you HATE that. Stew, schmew; they should know better. You were COMPLETELY justified in making those gagging noises and pretending to expire while everyone else was eating peacefully. Isn’t that what one does when being murdered? And when you were excused to go get ready for bed… well, the crocodile tears were only logical. Thank goodness, too, that you went upstairs and played with Lego instead of changing into your pajamas, then acted all wounded when discovered. That’ll show ’em!
Why can’t they understand that when you return from a weekend with The Greatest Parent Ever that you cannot possibly be expected to behave like a human? That your blood has turned to sugar and you’ve had four hours of sleep in three days? How could you be expected to actually PICK UP YOUR THINGS, under the circumstances?
And the consequences. Oh, the consequences! How you weep. It’s so sad. When the treasured items tossed to the floor like garbage are removed from your care, OH, how the wailing reverberates throughout the house! When the umpteenth chair-tipping episode results in loss of chair privileges, and you must eat your breakfast standing up, OH, how they will suffer under your wrath! When the hand idly flipping the lightswitch on and off and on and off and on and off is removed from the wall, OH, amputation couldn’t be more painful!
They clearly do not care about you in the slightest.
If only everything could go back to the way it used to be—you know, imaginary.