Demented mum: No 'Grease'-style summer lovin' for the Wolverine
HAVING been on summer holidays for the best part of three months, the Wolverine finds the concept beginning to pall.
The back-of-beyond, where her control-freak parents eke out their miserable existences, is not the kind of place which encourages a glorious, 'Grease'-style adolescent summer.
There's, like, her part-time job which requires her to rise before seven at least three days a week and cadge a lift into town from Dad.
It's hard work running around after small children. It's not, like, nearly as fun as she thought it'd be, she declares during a phone conversation with the second-best-friend.
Actually, she confides, she's going off the idea of becoming a child psychologist -- Jeez who'd have guessed that little kids could be such a pain in the a**.
And then there are her days off -- with an intermittent bus service and lacking a car-owning bad-boy boyfriend, there's no prospect of a spin into town to meet any friends who happen to be hanging around.
Instead she's forced to, like, either lie in bed til sometime in the afternoon, or else do chores which are really the responsibility of her parents.
"Imagine," she tells her confidante in hushed tones, "they actually leave a list of jobs for me to do on my day off when they're at work -- I have to do hoovering, peeling spuds, hanging out the clothes. They're such users, like."
The Wolverine recalls a particularly traumatic moment when she was forced to clean out the fridge.
She discovered a large pot of plain yogurt lurking at the back of it.
When she opened the carton, the yogurt had mutated into some kind of yukky greeny-grey fungus -- and get this, Suzy -- the walls of the carton were covered in some kind of weird spotty red bacteria that looked as if the yogurt had measles.
She could have got Ebola. She could have died of organ failure and external haemorrhaging. They could have found her dying on the floor with blood gushing out of her ears. She looked it up on the internet.
Her parents should be reported to the child protection department, she told her friend plaintively.
She tried to tell Granny, but Granny only laughed and said what doesn't kill you makes you stronger and that when she was the Wolverine's age she was already earning a good salary and handing most of it up to her mother.
"Adults are all in it together," the Wolverine grumbled.
"Just wait til we're 18. We can do whatever we want; make millions, buy sports cars and stuff and they won't be able to do a thing about it."
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