See, I find it really interesting that most parents (cough, my parents, cough) have an exceedingly large number of double standards. They’re everywhere: I’m not allowed to make any mess but if mum does it, it’s fine, I have to let them know where I am all the time, but dad can disappear for days on end, that kind of thing. The worst thing though (and I mean the worst) is the double standards when it comes to communication. If I want to get something done around the house, with regards to the house, I basically have to lodge a form in triplicate, that’s how complicated it is. But if mum or dad want something done that will directly impact me, they just do it.
Take today, for example. As you can tell, I’m a little bit ticked off, which is mostly due to the fact that I was sitting on the couch downstairs not wearing any pants when a strange man walked into my house. I screamed like a lunatic and threw a pillow at him before he could explain that he was here to do the tv antenna installation from leading Melbourne blah blah blah you get the idea. After blushing to the colour of a tomato, I raced to the solitude of my room upstairs and hid (not before putting on some pants). The whole thing was shocking and embarrassing in the extreme, and could have been easily avoided by a simple conversation with the parental units.
Then, I had to have this super awkward conversation with the digital antenna man from Melbourne, where he gave me back the key (my parents are unusually trusting people) and thanked me for letting him do his work (was that really even necessary? No, it wasn’t). He finished by making a comment about how cool my leggings were and then left. Utterly. Mortifying.