On top of having the world conspire against me, my 'family' try to engage me and my siblings in some ridiculous charade of playing happy families around the dinner table, at the pain of being grounded, so we can all 'share' about our days. So f*****g pointless.
- My father. Firstly, he grunts like a warthog while he eats. Second, he is a complete fascist who expects us to be "grateful" for what he has provided, even though he actually runs a factory that is little better than a third world sweatshop so we are essentially eating thanks to a whole collection of disenfranchised starving Asian children. Not that THAT is considered appropriate dinner conversation.
- My mother. Any woman with the kind of tranq problem that she has shouldn't be allowed near a hotplate. And I keep TELLING her I'm a vegetarian, but she just keeps serving charred cow carcass and expecting me to eat it. I don't know why I bother.
- The food. Obviously I have offered to cook vegan food, because it's a ridiculous pandering to gender inequality to force my mother to cook every night, that and she's an atrocious cook. But no. It's baked, fried and boiled meat products. I'm basically bulimic by force and have to sneak back to my room to eat soy cheese and walnut oil. And they wonder why I've been diagnosed with depression.
- My sister. Everyone else might be burning their bras but she's stuffing hers and just sits there covered in her tasteless platinum hair and not covered by her skirts. The fact that I sprang from this gene pool makes me sick.
- My father's mistress. It's not like it's some big secret. She only calls every half an hour to make sure he's still planning on divorcing my mom. So pathetic.
- The conversation. SO banal. How was your day, what did you do at work/school, why don't you just leave with that stupid bitch who keeps calling, why don't you cut out the valium, can't you cook anything right? On wednesday I gave myself a really cool tattoo with a steak knife, just to break the monotony.
- The lighting. Whoever invented chandeliers in the seventies should be taken out and shot. If I believed in that sort of punishment, which I don't, but like, it just makes the whole meal look like some kind of unappetising time warp.
- The music. My mom insists on playing classical music to "aid the digestion"... even though she can't tell the difference between Beethoven and Bach. She thinks it makes her cultured. Serious philistine problem. I'm telling her she'd be more at home with Wagner, but she's not going for it yet.
- The cutlery. SO bourgeois and ugly. And nowhere NEAR sharp enough for me to kill any members of my family if it gets too bad... or even better, myself.
- My fringe. Well, maybe it's a blessing. It might fall in the disgusting packet mashed potatoes, but at least I don't have to see what I'm eating.
