Before I discuss the doozy my mom sprung on me no less than ten minutes ago, I’d like to first give a brief overview of my week, mainly for structural and background purposes but also just because I can.
I went to school two out of five days. Monday and Tuesday were snow days, and Thursday I got sick.
A Phone Call
Friend: Hey, you okay? Your voice sounds stuffy.
Me: I’m sick. Runny nose.
Friend: Aw, I’m sorry! I hope you feel bett—
Me: My nose is running… and I hope it never comes back. *waits eagerly*
“Friend”: On second thought, I hope you drown in your own snot.
“Friend”: *hangs up*
It snowed pretty badly on Friday, too. Now that I think of it, I suppose I could’ve achieved one out of five days, had I just left school with everyone else. Instead, I (and maybe ten other people) stayed, and at least derived some sadistic pleasure from watching the school staff struggle to handle the chaos of overjoyed children, frantic parents, and piling blankets of white.
Things snowballed after that. Saturday’s dance competition was cancelled. Our driveway froze over, leaving us with nothing but a box of Cheez-Its to cover four meals. The AP test prep books we ordered got DELAYED (something which I am obviously all torn up over). And, more importantly, so was a certain letter addressed to my mom. Here’s where it gets interesting.
Mom flings open the front door. I yell in protest, because a) I’m not wearing pants and b) it’s freaking COLD. She ignores me with practiced skill and bends down to pick up a letter sitting on our doormat.
Reading it, a strange expression flits across her features. She tells me to pack my bags and drops an empty purple suitcase at my feet.
I toss in my phone, homework, dance team uniforms, and a few outfits. Upon further consideration, I add my laptop, smoothie machine, and stapler.
I ask if we’re moving. My mom informs me it’ll only be for one night. I remove the stapler.
I’m not going to pretend I completely understand what’s happening, but the gist of it is that my mom’s kicking out one of her tenants for his awful attitude and consistently late payments, so we’re staying at a friend’s house. In case, he, you know, comes to murder us in our sleep.
Because you can really never be too careful.