Friday, June 30, 2017

Living in a Teenage Wasteland

It's noon; the time is upon me. Any minute now, they will awake from their hibernation, pasty skinned and bleary eyed.  I look for a place to hide, if I'm very still, if I'm quiet maybe they won't find me.  I stand perfectly still in the bright sunshine pouring in from the kitchen sliding glass doors; it has been said the light burns their eyes and pale, pale pasty skin.  Thus I stand, quiet, barely breathing, willing the sweat on my brow to redirect it's trajectory away from my eyes.

I hear them before I see them; indecipherable grunts and moans, the occasional crash as they stumble over the debris left from the midnight feeding frenzy.  They round the corner, shielding their eyes from the bright sunshine.  I hold my breath waiting for them to pass.   All my hiding is for naught, my silhouette has been noticed.
"ugh augh ooogh."  Why I pause to translate the grunts to English I'll never know.  It's always the same thing.
"It's noon.  Make yourself a sandwich."
"I haven't eaten breakfast!"
"It's noon, it's lunch time.  If you want breakfast for lunch grab some cereal"
A gallon of milk and a box and a half of cereal later, the war begins; gunfire, aliens invading, robot's exploding, a menagerie of dystopian worlds clashing in chaos.
A  smog settles over the living room.  The smell can only be described as primitive; a noxious mixture of adrenaline, testosterone, grease and sweat.  I cover my nose and make my way through the bodies that litter the floor, eyes glued to their respective screens.  A trail of Lysol and Febreeze follows in my wake.
"Pick up the dishes and run the dishwasher." I say to the zombie closest to me.
"I did it last time"
"I don't care. Y'all are not going to sit here all day and rot.  Get up and do something productive."
"I have to no problem getting up." cracks the wise-ass zombie
"Yeah we all know how well you get up.  We hear you getting up four times a day" replies the mind in the gutter zombie.
I remember how quickly my cold cream is disappearing and I have a  horrific thought.
"Which one of you is using my face cream?"
The silence is deafening.
"Do NOT use my face cream to masturbate!!!  I will buy you your own lotion for that!"  Disgust overwhelms me as I rush to the bathroom to scrub and disinfect my face.
After thoroughly scrubbing my face and throwing away my mostly empty jar of cold cream, I return to a sink still full of dishes.
"That's it!! Devices off!! There will not be another gunshot, zombie apocalypse or robot dance until this house is clean! You weren't raised in a barn, don't act like you were."  nice mama, rational mama has been replaced with crazy, I just scrubbed my face raw, mama.
"The dishwasher isn't working!"
"I blew up the vacuum cleaner by accident!"
"Why should we mow the grass anyway? It's just going to grow again! It's a waste of my time!"
(because laying around and playing video games whilst your filth accumulates around you is such a GREAT use of your valuable time!)
"I'm hungry!!!"
"I'm thirsty!!"
"I have a headache!"
"He won't stop humming!"
"He won't stop telling me what to do!"
One load of dishes done and the living room "picked" up.  I call it a win and start counting down to bedtime.

Finally night falls.  I escape to my bedroom before the zombie's truly awake. Night time is when they feed.  The night is filled with juvenile double entendres, fart jokes, animee and technical jargon. Night is when more of their kind come out to play.....night is when the teenagers reign supreme.

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