Hello would you like to hear something a bit funny
For Easter, my sister and I bought our dear mother a really massive Easter egg. It big. It a big boy. We bought it for her because it looked nice and she likes chocolate, as she is a human being with functional tastebuds, and we thought no more of it. What a wonderful gift, we told ourselves. What good daughters are we.
It is now over a month later, and mum still hasn’t finished it. Every time I go downstairs, she’s sat scooping it into her mouth. She hates it. She resents it. It’s the worst part of her life. She wants it to be over, but doesn’t want to admit defeat. She won’t throw it away. It’s not going to beat her like that. It’s going to be digested. Every atom of that infernal egg must be consumed. And I did this to her. It was I who ruined her. Me. And also my twin, but she lives in England, so I must bear the brunt of her ire.
Which means that my mum has now started to try and force me to help her eat it. It started with emotional blackmail. “If you loved me, you’d help me.” “If you want me to pick you up from work tomorrow, you’d help me.” “If you want to live to see tomorrow’, you’ll help me.” And then it progressed to her literally pummeling me with shards of Easter egg. I would be sitting in the living room, minding my own business, and then I would feel the tell-tale thud of a half-melted piece of chocolate hitting me on the shoulder. “A gift,” she would say. I knew better than that. This was no gift. This was rage. This Trojan horse I gave to my own mother; betrayal has seeped out of it and now it cannot be contained.
And now she has gone a step further, and keeps secreting bits of Easter egg about my possessions. First, she found the lunch I’d made myself for work the next day, and she filled my lunchbox with Easter egg. Fine, I thought, at least that way I have an afternoon snack. Point to no-one, mother; there is no victory here. And then she started to wait until I made myself a cup of tea, and whenever I left the room to do something else, she would surround the half-drunk cup of tea with Easter egg, so that I couldn’t pick up the mug again without noticing the little flowerbed of passive aggression she’d planted around it.
And then today, I came to work and opened up my laptop case, and she has done it. She has taken a plastic sandwich bag and filled it with Easter egg and hidden it inside my laptop case. It’s all melty from the residual heat of the laptop charger. It’s coating my fingertips in a molten, sticky cast of my greatest mistake. Because I am eating the Easter egg. What else can I do? I made this bed. Me. I did this. And I have to undo it. And the only way to do that is to eat the Easter egg. I’m afraid of what will happen if I don’t. I want this thing gone, too. I want it gone so that my sense of joy can return. God, I want it gone.
andulkaphoto
amandla
blakekathryn
ellievsbear
yousharknotpass
romaincrisis
vaporwave
areudirty
titsay
