That Tuesday
Here we go. I'm finally up for writing about that horrible Tuesday that sent me into a funk for several weeks. That, and I have the house to myself.
The sordid tale
Let me set the stage:
Laura and I had just gone to see U2 the previous Saturday. My parents were purchasing several major appliances. I was about to embark on the rest of the spring concerts.
My mom had picked out a new fridge, stove, and range hood (stainless steel...pretty). Since she is off on Tuesdays, that would be the day they'd be delivered. I was supposed to be off that Tuesday as well, but I got called in for a few hours. When I came back the stove and fridge were in place. We didn't get the range hood for another week, but that was okay. I'd been apprehensive about the stove (OMG the controls for the burners are on the front, not the top!), but when I saw it I was thrilled. It's beautiful. It has five burners and some of them are at different power levels, so if you need to boil something, you put it on the power burner; if you need to gently heat something up, it goes on the low burner. It's pretty nifty, and mom was relieved that I liked it. It doesn't have a bottom broiler, as it's a self-cleaning oven, so the bottom part is a warming drawer. Mom's plan was to use it for storage. I'm not too keen on that idea, especially because the booklet has a "Danger Will Robinson!" warning to it, but the broiler pans and two big cookie sheets have taken residence down there. That's it, though. The controls for the oven are all digital. We haven't played around with all of them...and we still get confused by the cooking timer. At one point mom accidentally shut the oven off and ate partially raw chicken cordon bleu. (That was a concert night and I missed it, sadly. Basically the heat of the oven cooked the cheese, but the chicken didn't cook through because while she thought she was turning off the timer or something, she actually turned off the oven. Whoops. It's kind of annoying, though--you can't turn off the timer without turning off the oven. We'll have to play with it a bit.)
The fridge was something to get used to, though. The freezer is great. We love the storage it has and the fact that we can fit everything into it now. The little shelves on the door tilt so that it's really easy to get stuff out of there. The first time I did that I thought I broke it--nobody had told me the shelves move. And it does have an ice maker; we just can't get the ice through the door anymore. The fridge has a water dispenser, though it was a few days before we hooked up the water. Apparently my dad had rigged something up, and the appliance guys didn't want to touch it. Oh well. The other thing about the freezer was that the door to this freezer opened in the same direction as our old freezer, so that was comfortable to us. The fridge, though, was another story. We've spent over thirteen years with a door that opened the other way, and we didn't have to bend down to get stuff out of there. Plus, we had to really play with the shelves to get them to fit for our purposes. Mom pitched some of the older condiments, too. I think overall the shelving in the door is less than what we had, but we made it work. One shelf is big enough to hold the milk, so that's pretty convenient. We have another shelf that is convertible; you can slide the front part of it back to make room for tall items like bottles of pop. It's taken a little bit of time, but we're used to it now.
Since we got the fridge on Tuesday, and we normally go shopping on Mondays, mom asked us to wait until after the fridge arrived to go shopping--no point in buying tons of food and then having to find a place for it temporarily. As it was, we filled an old cooler full of stuff from the fridge and freezer, despite trying to clear them out by not buying lots of food the previous week.
So, Tuesday night. My father and I go grocery shopping. It was warm that evening, so presumably a lot of people wanted to get out of the house. At eight o'clock, there's not a lot of places open, so people went grocery shopping. Dad and I were both tired. He had a rough day at work, and the last person I had to deal with was a total moron, so despite our happy shiny new appliances we weren't in the best of moods. But we got through shopping and went to wait in line.
Of course, the masses of people that had gone shopping with us also crowded the front of the store--I'm not used to seeing lines like that at night. They had as many lanes open as possible, at least five, but every lane had at least four customers in them. Dad and I found the closest one and stood there. Alas, it was nearing nine and a shift change. The checkout guy's light was off, meaning he was supposed to leave, but we hadn't noticed. The checker told the guy two in front of us that us and the lady in front of us would have to find a different line. Annoying, but okay. So we did. And we got in an even longer line behind people with even more stuff. However, as we got closer to our new checker, I saw the light at the first guy's stand flip back on. I let out an exasperated "AUGH!" and said something like, and now the first guy's back open! Now, I have no idea what prompted my father to do this--his tired state of mind, my overly dramatic exclamation, whatever. But he walked into the lane next to that checker and started going off on him, saying something like, what the f*ck do you think you're doing, we were waiting in your line and blah blah blah. It was pretty bad. Meanwhile, don't forget, we're in the middle of packed checkout lanes as he did this. I was horrified. The manager on duty came over and gently guided my dad away, saying that since it was so busy, she'd asked the checker to stay for an extra hour. It hadn't been his choice to stay. Me, the retail queen, understood. My dad, who probably has never worked retail in his life, did not. I was extra super pissed at him. You really have no idea. The manager grabbed somebody and opened a lane for us. This wasn't a "let's feel sorry for the guy and keep him happy so he'll keep shopping here" lane opening; this was a "let's get this guy out of here as soon as possible so he doesn't further upset the other customers" lane opening. Basically, they made a stupid prick lane for him. And then my dad didn't want to go in the lane. The guy behind us tried to seize the opportunity, but finally he came over. I started going off on him, like what the hell was he thinking, it wasn't the guy's choice to stay, I'm one of them and I know how they feel, etc. When we were done, I apologized profusely and thanked the manager and checker for that. When we got into the parking lot, my dad went off on *me*, like don't you ever do that to me in the grocery store again, and you'll never go grocery shopping with me ever. Fine by me, no skin off my back, I retorted. Then my anger got the best of me and I said, maybe you should walk home. And, in fact, once he'd loaded all the groceries into my trunk, I got in my car and drove off while he was putting the cart away. I had been parked at the start of the lane; I got to the end and parked there, watching him in my rear-view mirror. I could see him looking at my car in disbelief, but instead of walking toward my car he started walking across the parking lot, toward Target. Seeing him go that way, I figured he wasn't about to get in my car, so I drove home. At one point I wondered if I should go back and get him, but I decided against it.
This wasn't the first time my father had been left at a store in anger. Once, when I was a kid, my mother got pissed at him and left him at Venture. This time was slightly better, as the walk was only a mile, not three, and he did not have to carry a ten-foot ladder while doing so. Of course, this time it was nine o'clock at night and quite dark; the other time was on a Saturday afternoon. The walking in the dark part was what concerned me more, but I said screw it. If he can't be trusted to treat the people at Jewel like human beings, then maybe he deserves to get squished like a bug.
See, the thing is that this was not the first time he's treated a Jewel employee like crap. He had never sworn at them, but he has no tact whatsoever when asking people questions there. There is no "excuse me." There is no "could you help me find..." He acts like all the customers I hate, and I've let him know that in the past. This time, it was blatantly obvious that he was an asshole.
When I deal with customers, I have a philosophy. It's based on the Golden Rule, but I reverse it. You're supposed to treat people the way you wish to be treated; well, I'll treat you the way you treat me. Some people clearly wish to be treated like crap. This was one of those times. I do commend the people at Jewel for never losing their cool. They were professional the entire time. I would have gone off on him whether he was my father or not.
When I got home, I had to bring the groceries into the house. Normally dad has his garage door opener; I don't have one. I wasn't sure if it was in my car, but I decided to just go in the house through the front door like I normally do. With just one person and a lot of groceries (we were told to stock up to fill the new fridge), it took me a while. Then I had to put it all away. I was just finishing up when the front door opened. I was actually surprised that my dad had his keys on him. He asked for his garage door opener, which was in my car, and then in a chilly voice said something like, "You need to get out." Then he got on his bike and rode away.
I was stunned at all that had taken place. In less than an hour my family had gone from happy to almost gone. This was the day that I posted my long dissertation on the U2 concert. I'd pretty much finished it before we left, but I didn't get a chance to proofread it. I just posted it all and went back to fix it later. That's why there's a disclaimer at the bottom of it. I wanted to get it online before he got back, and I succeeded.
I went upstairs to bed. The next day I worked all day and then went to the concert in Buffalo Grove, so I wasn't home until after 9:30. My dad was on the couch with the TV on. I couldn't tell if he was awake or asleep, so I hurriedly put my shoes and jacket in the closet and went upstairs.
The next day, Thursday. Mom and I were both home. She said that she'd heard about what happened and was upset about it. I asked her if dad had told her exactly what he did that caused me to lose it. She said yes. I knew that what I'd done was wrong, but I felt that what he'd done was worse. The Barrington concert was that night, and I left before he got home. When I got back, he was busy taking out the trash for the next day. I decided to try to talk to him, and as he walked past me I said hi. He ignored me. I went in the house through the front door and immediately went upstairs.
The next few days pretty much consisted of me freaking out alone in my bedroom. At least Friday I was alone most of the day, but Saturday dad was home part of the day (he did work in the morning). Sunday was the worst. I had the day off. Normally I work eight hours on Sundays, but my boss had an appointment on Monday and needed me to work all day then. Basically, in order to not upset my father any further, when he was home I stayed up in my room the whole time. The whole time. As is, that Sunday, I only left my room to grab a quick granola bar for breakfast and then a couple times to pee. The rest of that day was spent on my bed contemplating life. I skipped lunch. I can't even recall, but I think I skipped dinner on Saturday. By the time dinner came around on Sunday I was really, really hungry but I still debated as to whether or not to venture downstairs for food--I really didn't want to see him. Finally my mom asked if I was going to eat anything, and I said I was watching The Simpsons and that I was waiting for a commercial break. I went down and grabbed a couple tacos and pretty much devoured them when I got back to my room. But that was it--I wasn't going back down until Monday when my dad was at work.
Despite not doing anything remotely strenuous, I managed to starve two pounds off myself that weekend. That's the one good thing that came of this.
The following week wasn't much different. If my dad was home, I wasn't downstairs. I pretty much lived in my room. I started looking at the classified ads in the paper to get an idea of what apartments cost. Not that I can really afford them; pretty much every cent I make goes toward my bills (car, student loans, and whatever I put on Mr. Visa). I do have money in savings, but I'd really prefer to not touch that. Of course, if I moved out now, I would have no choice unless I found myself another job. I really don't want to do that. I'd much prefer to write. I started to look into publishers and agents, and I wrote out one of the children's books I've been meaning to put down on paper. Unfortunately, I hadn't ever realized how long it can take to get a book published, and that's once it's accepted to even be published. Crap. Plus my copy of Novel & Short Story Writer's Market is five years old, so I'd have to get an updated version to see if the people/places I liked are even still available to me. I also discovered that there's really nothing available to rent under $600--and most places are more than that. That's pretty much what I make in a month. Commence depression. Then I realized I really don't have any appliances or furniture, and if I move out I wouldn't have a computer. How can I be a writer without access to a computer? Yes, I could do it all longhand, but I work much better and am more organized when I type. There's just so much to think about and I hadn't planned on thinking about all of it until the summer. Mom would like me to move out by the time I'm 28, and I do think that's reasonable...but right now? Not right now. Dad wouldn't kick me out of the house...would he? Hello living in my car. I really began regretting the car, too--why couldn't I have gotten a used car? Why did I have to pick new? Ugh. Stupid life choices. And how would I eat? I wouldn't have money to eat, but then of course I wouldn't have plates or silverware either, so I suppose it wouldn't matter.
I can't even recall much of that following weekend. Mom had said to me that my father expected me to apologize to him...but you know what? Why can't he apologize first? He's the one that blew up first. I knew I was being petty and childish, but it runs in the family. I kept thinking of my two uncles who haven't spoken in twelve years. It was about time my dad got involved in a stupid squabble. I was also wondering how I would move if I wasn't speaking to my dad, seeing as he's the strongman in the family. I can't afford movers, but if I don't have him at my disposal, I'd have no choice. Ugh. Too much to think about.
Two weeks later. Nothing has been resolved. I was running out of the food I ate, but I refused to write anything down on the shopping list unless it was something my parents used, too, like butter. The thing was, it was the week of my mother's birthday. If anything, she wanted us to be speaking to each other. We've always gone out to eat as a family for birthdays and such, and I'm sure she wanted to do the same thing this year. Crap.
Wednesday came along. This was the day mom decided to go out for dinner. Dad had just beaten us home, and the two of them were talking about restaurants. There wasn't any avoiding it--I was going to have to go, too. Dad jumped in the shower, and I went into my bathroom to brush my teeth and comb my hair. Then I went into my room and waited. Kirby was being pretty chirpy, so I got him and brought him out into the foyer to say hi to mom. Then dad came out and started to walk downstairs, then stopped, looked me in the eye, held up two fingers and said, "Truce." I did the same thing. I felt like most of the weight was lifted off my shoulders--not totally, but a big portion of it. But dad got the last jab. Since buying my car, I've been the family chauffeur, so naturally I would drive...but dad had to ask something like, you're not going to drive off without me again, are you? Gee, thanks. But dinner overall was okay. We even sat next to each other, as mom usually likes to sit alone in a booth. I'd missed all his work stories, and he hadn't heard mine, so it was a little bit of catch-up time. Since then we haven't discussed what happened. We probably never will. But we're back to almost where we were before. I still need to move out at some point, and no, I'm not grocery shopping with him anymore, but at least we're speaking. Though it was kind of nice to have my mother on my side, albeit briefly.
The sordid tale
Let me set the stage:
Laura and I had just gone to see U2 the previous Saturday. My parents were purchasing several major appliances. I was about to embark on the rest of the spring concerts.
My mom had picked out a new fridge, stove, and range hood (stainless steel...pretty). Since she is off on Tuesdays, that would be the day they'd be delivered. I was supposed to be off that Tuesday as well, but I got called in for a few hours. When I came back the stove and fridge were in place. We didn't get the range hood for another week, but that was okay. I'd been apprehensive about the stove (OMG the controls for the burners are on the front, not the top!), but when I saw it I was thrilled. It's beautiful. It has five burners and some of them are at different power levels, so if you need to boil something, you put it on the power burner; if you need to gently heat something up, it goes on the low burner. It's pretty nifty, and mom was relieved that I liked it. It doesn't have a bottom broiler, as it's a self-cleaning oven, so the bottom part is a warming drawer. Mom's plan was to use it for storage. I'm not too keen on that idea, especially because the booklet has a "Danger Will Robinson!" warning to it, but the broiler pans and two big cookie sheets have taken residence down there. That's it, though. The controls for the oven are all digital. We haven't played around with all of them...and we still get confused by the cooking timer. At one point mom accidentally shut the oven off and ate partially raw chicken cordon bleu. (That was a concert night and I missed it, sadly. Basically the heat of the oven cooked the cheese, but the chicken didn't cook through because while she thought she was turning off the timer or something, she actually turned off the oven. Whoops. It's kind of annoying, though--you can't turn off the timer without turning off the oven. We'll have to play with it a bit.)
The fridge was something to get used to, though. The freezer is great. We love the storage it has and the fact that we can fit everything into it now. The little shelves on the door tilt so that it's really easy to get stuff out of there. The first time I did that I thought I broke it--nobody had told me the shelves move. And it does have an ice maker; we just can't get the ice through the door anymore. The fridge has a water dispenser, though it was a few days before we hooked up the water. Apparently my dad had rigged something up, and the appliance guys didn't want to touch it. Oh well. The other thing about the freezer was that the door to this freezer opened in the same direction as our old freezer, so that was comfortable to us. The fridge, though, was another story. We've spent over thirteen years with a door that opened the other way, and we didn't have to bend down to get stuff out of there. Plus, we had to really play with the shelves to get them to fit for our purposes. Mom pitched some of the older condiments, too. I think overall the shelving in the door is less than what we had, but we made it work. One shelf is big enough to hold the milk, so that's pretty convenient. We have another shelf that is convertible; you can slide the front part of it back to make room for tall items like bottles of pop. It's taken a little bit of time, but we're used to it now.
Since we got the fridge on Tuesday, and we normally go shopping on Mondays, mom asked us to wait until after the fridge arrived to go shopping--no point in buying tons of food and then having to find a place for it temporarily. As it was, we filled an old cooler full of stuff from the fridge and freezer, despite trying to clear them out by not buying lots of food the previous week.
So, Tuesday night. My father and I go grocery shopping. It was warm that evening, so presumably a lot of people wanted to get out of the house. At eight o'clock, there's not a lot of places open, so people went grocery shopping. Dad and I were both tired. He had a rough day at work, and the last person I had to deal with was a total moron, so despite our happy shiny new appliances we weren't in the best of moods. But we got through shopping and went to wait in line.
Of course, the masses of people that had gone shopping with us also crowded the front of the store--I'm not used to seeing lines like that at night. They had as many lanes open as possible, at least five, but every lane had at least four customers in them. Dad and I found the closest one and stood there. Alas, it was nearing nine and a shift change. The checkout guy's light was off, meaning he was supposed to leave, but we hadn't noticed. The checker told the guy two in front of us that us and the lady in front of us would have to find a different line. Annoying, but okay. So we did. And we got in an even longer line behind people with even more stuff. However, as we got closer to our new checker, I saw the light at the first guy's stand flip back on. I let out an exasperated "AUGH!" and said something like, and now the first guy's back open! Now, I have no idea what prompted my father to do this--his tired state of mind, my overly dramatic exclamation, whatever. But he walked into the lane next to that checker and started going off on him, saying something like, what the f*ck do you think you're doing, we were waiting in your line and blah blah blah. It was pretty bad. Meanwhile, don't forget, we're in the middle of packed checkout lanes as he did this. I was horrified. The manager on duty came over and gently guided my dad away, saying that since it was so busy, she'd asked the checker to stay for an extra hour. It hadn't been his choice to stay. Me, the retail queen, understood. My dad, who probably has never worked retail in his life, did not. I was extra super pissed at him. You really have no idea. The manager grabbed somebody and opened a lane for us. This wasn't a "let's feel sorry for the guy and keep him happy so he'll keep shopping here" lane opening; this was a "let's get this guy out of here as soon as possible so he doesn't further upset the other customers" lane opening. Basically, they made a stupid prick lane for him. And then my dad didn't want to go in the lane. The guy behind us tried to seize the opportunity, but finally he came over. I started going off on him, like what the hell was he thinking, it wasn't the guy's choice to stay, I'm one of them and I know how they feel, etc. When we were done, I apologized profusely and thanked the manager and checker for that. When we got into the parking lot, my dad went off on *me*, like don't you ever do that to me in the grocery store again, and you'll never go grocery shopping with me ever. Fine by me, no skin off my back, I retorted. Then my anger got the best of me and I said, maybe you should walk home. And, in fact, once he'd loaded all the groceries into my trunk, I got in my car and drove off while he was putting the cart away. I had been parked at the start of the lane; I got to the end and parked there, watching him in my rear-view mirror. I could see him looking at my car in disbelief, but instead of walking toward my car he started walking across the parking lot, toward Target. Seeing him go that way, I figured he wasn't about to get in my car, so I drove home. At one point I wondered if I should go back and get him, but I decided against it.
This wasn't the first time my father had been left at a store in anger. Once, when I was a kid, my mother got pissed at him and left him at Venture. This time was slightly better, as the walk was only a mile, not three, and he did not have to carry a ten-foot ladder while doing so. Of course, this time it was nine o'clock at night and quite dark; the other time was on a Saturday afternoon. The walking in the dark part was what concerned me more, but I said screw it. If he can't be trusted to treat the people at Jewel like human beings, then maybe he deserves to get squished like a bug.
See, the thing is that this was not the first time he's treated a Jewel employee like crap. He had never sworn at them, but he has no tact whatsoever when asking people questions there. There is no "excuse me." There is no "could you help me find..." He acts like all the customers I hate, and I've let him know that in the past. This time, it was blatantly obvious that he was an asshole.
When I deal with customers, I have a philosophy. It's based on the Golden Rule, but I reverse it. You're supposed to treat people the way you wish to be treated; well, I'll treat you the way you treat me. Some people clearly wish to be treated like crap. This was one of those times. I do commend the people at Jewel for never losing their cool. They were professional the entire time. I would have gone off on him whether he was my father or not.
When I got home, I had to bring the groceries into the house. Normally dad has his garage door opener; I don't have one. I wasn't sure if it was in my car, but I decided to just go in the house through the front door like I normally do. With just one person and a lot of groceries (we were told to stock up to fill the new fridge), it took me a while. Then I had to put it all away. I was just finishing up when the front door opened. I was actually surprised that my dad had his keys on him. He asked for his garage door opener, which was in my car, and then in a chilly voice said something like, "You need to get out." Then he got on his bike and rode away.
I was stunned at all that had taken place. In less than an hour my family had gone from happy to almost gone. This was the day that I posted my long dissertation on the U2 concert. I'd pretty much finished it before we left, but I didn't get a chance to proofread it. I just posted it all and went back to fix it later. That's why there's a disclaimer at the bottom of it. I wanted to get it online before he got back, and I succeeded.
I went upstairs to bed. The next day I worked all day and then went to the concert in Buffalo Grove, so I wasn't home until after 9:30. My dad was on the couch with the TV on. I couldn't tell if he was awake or asleep, so I hurriedly put my shoes and jacket in the closet and went upstairs.
The next day, Thursday. Mom and I were both home. She said that she'd heard about what happened and was upset about it. I asked her if dad had told her exactly what he did that caused me to lose it. She said yes. I knew that what I'd done was wrong, but I felt that what he'd done was worse. The Barrington concert was that night, and I left before he got home. When I got back, he was busy taking out the trash for the next day. I decided to try to talk to him, and as he walked past me I said hi. He ignored me. I went in the house through the front door and immediately went upstairs.
The next few days pretty much consisted of me freaking out alone in my bedroom. At least Friday I was alone most of the day, but Saturday dad was home part of the day (he did work in the morning). Sunday was the worst. I had the day off. Normally I work eight hours on Sundays, but my boss had an appointment on Monday and needed me to work all day then. Basically, in order to not upset my father any further, when he was home I stayed up in my room the whole time. The whole time. As is, that Sunday, I only left my room to grab a quick granola bar for breakfast and then a couple times to pee. The rest of that day was spent on my bed contemplating life. I skipped lunch. I can't even recall, but I think I skipped dinner on Saturday. By the time dinner came around on Sunday I was really, really hungry but I still debated as to whether or not to venture downstairs for food--I really didn't want to see him. Finally my mom asked if I was going to eat anything, and I said I was watching The Simpsons and that I was waiting for a commercial break. I went down and grabbed a couple tacos and pretty much devoured them when I got back to my room. But that was it--I wasn't going back down until Monday when my dad was at work.
Despite not doing anything remotely strenuous, I managed to starve two pounds off myself that weekend. That's the one good thing that came of this.
The following week wasn't much different. If my dad was home, I wasn't downstairs. I pretty much lived in my room. I started looking at the classified ads in the paper to get an idea of what apartments cost. Not that I can really afford them; pretty much every cent I make goes toward my bills (car, student loans, and whatever I put on Mr. Visa). I do have money in savings, but I'd really prefer to not touch that. Of course, if I moved out now, I would have no choice unless I found myself another job. I really don't want to do that. I'd much prefer to write. I started to look into publishers and agents, and I wrote out one of the children's books I've been meaning to put down on paper. Unfortunately, I hadn't ever realized how long it can take to get a book published, and that's once it's accepted to even be published. Crap. Plus my copy of Novel & Short Story Writer's Market is five years old, so I'd have to get an updated version to see if the people/places I liked are even still available to me. I also discovered that there's really nothing available to rent under $600--and most places are more than that. That's pretty much what I make in a month. Commence depression. Then I realized I really don't have any appliances or furniture, and if I move out I wouldn't have a computer. How can I be a writer without access to a computer? Yes, I could do it all longhand, but I work much better and am more organized when I type. There's just so much to think about and I hadn't planned on thinking about all of it until the summer. Mom would like me to move out by the time I'm 28, and I do think that's reasonable...but right now? Not right now. Dad wouldn't kick me out of the house...would he? Hello living in my car. I really began regretting the car, too--why couldn't I have gotten a used car? Why did I have to pick new? Ugh. Stupid life choices. And how would I eat? I wouldn't have money to eat, but then of course I wouldn't have plates or silverware either, so I suppose it wouldn't matter.
I can't even recall much of that following weekend. Mom had said to me that my father expected me to apologize to him...but you know what? Why can't he apologize first? He's the one that blew up first. I knew I was being petty and childish, but it runs in the family. I kept thinking of my two uncles who haven't spoken in twelve years. It was about time my dad got involved in a stupid squabble. I was also wondering how I would move if I wasn't speaking to my dad, seeing as he's the strongman in the family. I can't afford movers, but if I don't have him at my disposal, I'd have no choice. Ugh. Too much to think about.
Two weeks later. Nothing has been resolved. I was running out of the food I ate, but I refused to write anything down on the shopping list unless it was something my parents used, too, like butter. The thing was, it was the week of my mother's birthday. If anything, she wanted us to be speaking to each other. We've always gone out to eat as a family for birthdays and such, and I'm sure she wanted to do the same thing this year. Crap.
Wednesday came along. This was the day mom decided to go out for dinner. Dad had just beaten us home, and the two of them were talking about restaurants. There wasn't any avoiding it--I was going to have to go, too. Dad jumped in the shower, and I went into my bathroom to brush my teeth and comb my hair. Then I went into my room and waited. Kirby was being pretty chirpy, so I got him and brought him out into the foyer to say hi to mom. Then dad came out and started to walk downstairs, then stopped, looked me in the eye, held up two fingers and said, "Truce." I did the same thing. I felt like most of the weight was lifted off my shoulders--not totally, but a big portion of it. But dad got the last jab. Since buying my car, I've been the family chauffeur, so naturally I would drive...but dad had to ask something like, you're not going to drive off without me again, are you? Gee, thanks. But dinner overall was okay. We even sat next to each other, as mom usually likes to sit alone in a booth. I'd missed all his work stories, and he hadn't heard mine, so it was a little bit of catch-up time. Since then we haven't discussed what happened. We probably never will. But we're back to almost where we were before. I still need to move out at some point, and no, I'm not grocery shopping with him anymore, but at least we're speaking. Though it was kind of nice to have my mother on my side, albeit briefly.