My uncle is staying with us for the whole summer. This particular uncle and I have never gotten along. I can remember blowing up at him when I was all of six because he wouldn't take me seriously.
About a half hour ago, he poked his head into my room where I was putting the finishing touches on my speech, and said, "Excuse me, do you mind? The kitchen is full of flies and the living room is a filthy mess."
Really? There were 10 dirty dishes on the counter, and like 3 things in the living room. The horror of it all. I saw a grand total of two flies in the kitchen. TWO. Oh, and the little brothers who had made the 'filthy mess' in the living room were outside building a tent with him and my stepdad.
On day five of his visit, he told my sister and I that we're about as efficent and industrious as 7-year-olds. I have now heard everything. I was called lazy by a college dropout who lived with his parents until 3 weeks ago and can't keep a job.
Yesterday, my baby sister was playing with ancient shoebrushes, reenacting scenes from Tangled. I was busy at the time, and when I went into the living room, Mazie was standing in the corner sobbing her eyes out, telling me how "Unca Deff took it, wanna BACK!" I asked him what happened.
"Your sister was playing with POISON, missie!"
Because we all know I'M the grownup in charge. (Mom was gone at the time.)
"Well, did you explain that to her?"
"Cough-cough. Yes! I told her that they would make her sick, and-"
"She doesn't know the words poison or sick. She knows 'buggies' and 'ouch' and 'yucky'. Next time-"
"*Splutter*"
"NEXT TIME *losing patience* try that." I then left to console the still sobbing baby.
Mom and I had a talk, and she told me that he seems to only have a problem with me, for whatever reason. I know the reason.
Everybody else in the house just says, "Uh-huh, okay." I REFUSE to be walked over. I was here first, dangnabit! I tell him what he's doing wrong, ('wrong' meaning that that isn't the way things are done here) and how to change it. He just can't stand being told he's wrong!
Oh, and here's some pictures of the filthy mess.
I can't wait for September.
About a half hour ago, he poked his head into my room where I was putting the finishing touches on my speech, and said, "Excuse me, do you mind? The kitchen is full of flies and the living room is a filthy mess."
Really? There were 10 dirty dishes on the counter, and like 3 things in the living room. The horror of it all. I saw a grand total of two flies in the kitchen. TWO. Oh, and the little brothers who had made the 'filthy mess' in the living room were outside building a tent with him and my stepdad.
On day five of his visit, he told my sister and I that we're about as efficent and industrious as 7-year-olds. I have now heard everything. I was called lazy by a college dropout who lived with his parents until 3 weeks ago and can't keep a job.
Yesterday, my baby sister was playing with ancient shoebrushes, reenacting scenes from Tangled. I was busy at the time, and when I went into the living room, Mazie was standing in the corner sobbing her eyes out, telling me how "Unca Deff took it, wanna BACK!" I asked him what happened.
"Your sister was playing with POISON, missie!"
Because we all know I'M the grownup in charge. (Mom was gone at the time.)
"Well, did you explain that to her?"
"Cough-cough. Yes! I told her that they would make her sick, and-"
"She doesn't know the words poison or sick. She knows 'buggies' and 'ouch' and 'yucky'. Next time-"
"*Splutter*"
"NEXT TIME *losing patience* try that." I then left to console the still sobbing baby.
Mom and I had a talk, and she told me that he seems to only have a problem with me, for whatever reason. I know the reason.
Everybody else in the house just says, "Uh-huh, okay." I REFUSE to be walked over. I was here first, dangnabit! I tell him what he's doing wrong, ('wrong' meaning that that isn't the way things are done here) and how to change it. He just can't stand being told he's wrong!
Oh, and here's some pictures of the filthy mess.
I can't wait for September.
Last edited:
