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Vent Journal: Can't Make 'Em Happy
14 years ago
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As soon as you read this I will have full control of your mind... now read my journal.
Friggin' mothers. No matter what I do, she ain't happy. What brought this rant on? Laundry.
My folks are going to the mountains for the weekend with some friends, and I'm trying to get the house to a presentable level so my mom doesn't have a fucking conniption, and she only asks me to do one thing today, which is a load of towels. When she called to ask me to do that, I had a load of blue jeans in, and was doing a detailed cleaning of the stove top.
The stove involves me letting the nasty, greasy parts soak in hot, soapy water AFTER they've gone all night tied up in trash bags outside with ammonia. That's how nasty they are. So I'm working on this for hours and forget my jeans. When I remember those, I fold them and get back to working on the stove and kitchen and living room. I just happen to forget the towels. So 3:30 rolls around, and I tell my dad I forgot the towels and need to throw them in the wash. He tells me to wait, because he's just about to get in the shower. I say, "OK," and sit down for a while.
So my mom calls at 4:00 and I apologize that I forgot her towels while cleaning the rest of the house... and she gets pissed because now she won't have any clean bras over the weekend...
That tidbit of information would've been useful about THREE HOURS AGO when she first called! I try to explain to her that I got busy cleaning the rest of the house so she wouldn't have to be OCD about the house the whole time she's away, and she continues to complain. Finally I raise my voice a bit so she would listen to me and she just tells me, "Don't get mad at me. You should've had this done hours ago."
Well you know what? Fine. One of the few times I do something huge without her asking me to do it and this is how she responds? I don't even know why I bother sometimes.
Yeah, It seems like when you reach about 18 or so, mothers just tend to lose faith in you and make life death so easily.