This is what was written in the birthday card my Dad gave me this morning:
To our lovely Jessica,
Wishing you a very happy birthday and thanks for 16 years of your charm, humour and wonderful companionship!
Love, Mom & Dad
I didn’t want to seem ungrateful for the card, but there was one thing I felt I had to say. “…‘Mom’?”
My Dad seemed confused. “Yeah? What about it?”
“Well, you wrote ‘mom’ in my card.”
“Yeah, and? Why can’t I write ‘mum’ in your card?”
“But see, you didn’t write ‘mum’. You wrote ‘mom’. Like, with an ‘O’.”
“Oh.” Dad paused, wondering what excuse he could offer me. “Well, I’ve just been on the phone for two hours with Americans!”
“Right…”
“And anyway, you know, there’s nothing wrong with writing ‘mom’! I mean, how do you spell ‘mother’? You don’t spell it with a ‘U’, do you? I mean, who spells ‘mother’ with a ‘U’? You spell ‘mother’ with an ‘O’ and so you also spell ‘mom’ with an ‘O’.”
“Dad,” I said, “you can’t complain about how I’m using Australian English.”
Dad seemed deflated. “I can try.”
My Grandma, like many elderly people seem to be, is obsessed with chores. This is fine. How could I really complain about someone else’s love of cleaning? No, that’s not the problem at all. The problem is that she’s also obsessed with making me do chores. This is a very big problem. Grandma, I like the second bed in my room the way it is. I like it a lot. I put a lot of thought into the way it’s set out, and I don’t appreciate you rearranging it every week.
You see, Grandma thinks my bed looks the way it does because I’m lazy. It’s not there because I’m lazy, it’s there because I’m efficient. Think about it this way. If I put those items of clothing away, what will I have to do when I want to wear one of them? Oh, right, I’ll have to remember which drawer I put it in, hunt through it until I locate this item amongst the rest, and take it out again. So which is faster — putting it away and rummaging, or grabbing it in half a second because it’s right there? Yeah, I thought so. Read on…
It’s Monday afternoon and I came back a day ago from my grandmother’s house, which is a long, long way from my own. But why would I have gone to my grandmother’s house in the first place? Ah. Well, that’s a long story, and one you may or may not wish to hear. But the fact that I did, and the fact that I was away from home for two days, means that (for today at least) I am getting my own way. Which is what every teenager wants. Read on…