“You know…” my sister says, snipping at some swatch watch.
“I don’t know.”
She glares at me, while gluing on the swatch watch to blue paper “You look disgusting with that ponytail.”
“Oh.”
“Disgusting” is her new favourite catchphrase. She has used it twice in the last five minutes, once to describe my speech, the second time in reference to me singing.
She seems to want a stronger reaction.
“You look like that Flintstones girl”
I thought back dully to the other characters I had been referenced to this week, an abused child, an extra on the LotR set and my junior simply tugged the hair band out of my hair.
“ So?”
She brandishes the pink scissors in her hand quite menacingly.
“Take if off.”
“No.”
In the next minute, she proceeds to pull the hair band out of my hair and cuts it into two.
She holds it up quite triumphantly.
Now, my mum is yelling at my sister for damaging that hairband while I type this.
I didn’t know just tying up my hair would provoke such strong reactions.
“You suck” she is saying now while she swivels around in her swivel chair.
“Mmmhmm” I say
She’s breathing down my neck, I hate it when she peers over my shoulder.
“I am not breathing down your neck.”
“Yes,you are.” I type happily,bolding my words.
“You are not typing happily, you aren’t even smiling.”
“That’s lame.Seriously.”
0 comments:
Post a Comment