Don’t forget to read Part 1!
Do you know what I would love beyond all reason? A remote with a mute button for people. God, why is it that sometimes people just have to make an issue out of everything?
Only a handful of people can ruin my mood with just a few sentences. Hurricane’s been doing it since I was old enough to have a mood. And she’s never shown any signs of stopping. Just the opposite, she’s gotten worse.
I just don’t get why everything needs to be pointed out. Like, stop going on over and over again. You said the thing, now go away. Don’t repeat yourself, spoil my mood and then have a fit when I don’t pretend to not be annoyed by the nagging.
More importantly, don’t say fine in that God-awful annoying tone like I’m just too much to bear and you’re washing your hands of me.
…no, I don’t have abandonment issues. Go dance in traffic.
Speaking of traffic, why can’t I have a chauffeur? I don’t want to drive, I want to sit in the back seat and daydream. And I don’t wanna pay attention to the road and whatever. What a waste of time.
There’s nothing wrong with having a chauffeur, I’d be giving someone an honest job. Fine, the Hurricane’s usually the one who does it now but that’s only because she’s so against the idea of me calling myself an Uber. Which is just dumb. I mean, come on. Who in the world actually cares besides those two aunties that the whole entire world knows just sit on their ample behinds and criticize people all day because they have nothing better to do?
And that’s another thing! Who decided that the opinions of the wide world decide what I’m allowed to do?
“What will people think, what will people think, what will people think?” It’s like a freaking nursery rhyme! No, actually, it’s like a dhikr. What a freaking shame that everyone’s ruled by the dire imaginings of what people will think of every little irrelevant action they take.
Even I’m not that self-centred, actually, to honestly believe that there’s anyone out there paying that much attention to me.
But it’s no use trying to explain that to Hurricane. I think it’s drinking all that masala chai that’s gotten her behaving so crazily. I kept telling her it was okay to decline it, but no! Miss Goody Two Shoes just had to have the perfect manners and do what was expected of her to a tee.
I crack myself up.
Well, never mind about Hurricane. I’m gonna spend my afternoon soaking in a tub full of bubbles and getting high on the scent of cinnamon buns. My new Yankee candle’s been waiting for me to burn it.
Hurricane has lost her mind. I came out of my lovely bath to find her making this disgusting gunk that she had the audacity to call a smoothie. I’m as much of a veggie lover as the next girl but don’t turn the stuff into sludge. Everyone knows the best part of all those leafy greens is the crunch!
Smoothies are for fruit. Mixing them up is a cardinal sin, punishable by having a glass of your goop poured over your head.
Relax! I didn’t actually decorate Hurricane’s head with her monstrosity. She would’ve imploded if I had.
I did want to, after she shoved it nearly up my nostrils. But all I did was pour the thing in the sink which I think was very restrained, considering it was an affront to all my senses.
Hurricane thinks otherwise, obviously. Apparently I’m ungrateful and rude.
But she isn’t rude to keep shoving her unwanted concoctions on me after I’ve told her repeatedly I don’t want them. How convenient, how things seem to always work out in her favour.
She’s stalked off to fume so I’ve got the kitchen to myself for a bit. I think I’ll make brownies. Hurricane adores brownies.
I’ll even use her ridiculous sugar substitute so she can’t whine about them being ‘poison’ or whatever she’s calling good food this week.
And maybe if she starts on again about whatever rubbish, I’ll stick a brownie in her mouth to shut her up.
Hey, a girl can dream, right?
Okay, bye for now.
What do I even call you anyway? Senseless void? It’s what you are – no one’s actually reading this.
Bye, Senseless Void! Don’t get up to anything I wouldn’t.
Update: Hurricane ate three brownies and moaned unhappily about her thighs the entire time. I could have let her go on believed that she’d eaten a metric ton of sugar and chocolate, but since I am a nice(-ish) person, I told her the truth.
Then she took two more brownies and I felt like she should die for eating half the pan when she hadn’t done any of the work.
We’re never not gonna drive each other nuts, I don’t think.
I mean, she drove me nuts enough that I’m complaining to the Internet about her so that I don’t smother her in her sleep.
Well, no, that’s not true. I wouldn’t smother someone if I wanted to kill them. Smothering’s way too strenuous for me.
If I was truly trying to kill the Hurricane, I’d just poison a brownie and write my name on it. She’d never be able to resist. (The Hurricane’s a giant, walking cliché).