A couple of days ago I was leaving the house to go write at a coffee shop. Wait. That’s a lie. Sort of. Okay, not really a lie. Well, I mean I was leaving the house. I was going to go write at a coffee shop. But I was not leaving the house because I was going to go write at the coffee shop. I could write at home. I have coffee at home. So though that first sentence is accurate, it does not tell the truth.
The truth is that I was leaving the house to get away from Lauren (my daughter). There I said it. Don’t judge me. I love the girl. Love her to death. But damn she can be a monumental pain in the ass! At 20 years old she still is probably one of the biggest cry babies ever. I am not kidding. There is little she can do without me. That’s my fault I guess.
As a former cop I taught her the important things in life. How to win a fight (basically made her watch all 3 Karate Kid movies). How not to get kidnapped (Don’t diet, ever try to kidnap a big girl?). How to talk to a cop (don’t talk to a cop). How to spot a time traveler from the future (his watch is set ahead, duh). And, last, but not by any means least, how to survive the zombie apocalypse (This is the opposite of the kidnapped thing. Diet. Fatties are the first to go in the zombie apocalypse).
I’m afraid that was the extent of her training. Everything else has to be done for her. If I stay home to do some work or write she will come out of the room every two hours and ask if there is anything to eat. If I don’t get up and answer right away she will stand there and stare at me like the dog does (You’re my boy Blue!). She can cook. She just won’t if I am around. She likes everything done for her.
She has on more than one occasion made it known that she does not plan to move out. Ever. What for? I get it. She has everything she needs here. I can’t imagine her being able to make it more than 24 hours out in the real world before she’d come running back.
Well, maybe I don’t mind as much as I say I do. I don’t like the real world as it is now and I can’t picture her out in it yet anyway. It’s ugly out there. If I could have kept all my kids in forever I would have. But, and this is a big (butt), why did the one not wanting to leave have to be her? Why do I get to keep the lazy one that won’t even take the dog out (You’re my boy Blue!) in the mornings? What sins in my past lives am I paying for now? Don’t answer that.
I leave the house today wondering all those things. We just argued about something this morning and I don’t even remember what it was. Taking the dog out? Washing her dishes? Something. I don’t remember. But as I go out to the car to leave she follows me out with the dog (You’re my boy Blue!). I go one direction and she goes the other. I’m almost to the car and I look across to her and she looks at me and says “Go! You said you were going so go!”. I feel bad for just a second.
I look over at her and smile. Not because what she said was funny, but because as she said that the dog (You’re my boy Blue!) was on his back on the grass rubbing his body on a pile of dog shit. Twisting and turning like he was having a seizure and making sure he got the dog crap on ever inch of his back and then twisting around and digging his face into it. Lauren screams.
I yell “You’re my boy Blue!” and walk off to the car and leave.
I can’t help but smile all the way to the coffee shop. Yes, it’s the little things in life that make my life worth living.