daddy dearest

Oh my God.  My dad is such a baby.  Jesus Christ.  I nearly cried at his ridiculous childishness just now.

So both my parents spent the entirety of dinner yelling at me.  Apparently I was supposed to have emailed Chouks a long time ago, but I neglected to do so...cue the yelling and the lectures.  You'll never get into college if you don't get Ms. Choukrane to notice you, you need to be more ambitious, we can only support you, you have to do this on your own.  Blah blah blah.  Whatever, guys.

Anyway, because they spent maybe an hour lecturing me, I figured, hey, maybe I should actually do what they tell me to.  Plus, I was kind of angry at them for being so incredibly annoying (I realized for the first time how insufferably slowly my dad talks when he's arguing.  Whether he is doing it to make the lecture even more excruciating than it already is, or just because he has no idea what to say next and is buying time, I do not know.  All I know is that I HATE it).  So after dinner I just stomped off to my room.  Then I felt guilty, and went back to do the dishes.  My dad was nowhere to be seen.  It's generally understood lately that my mom cooks, and my dad and I do the dishes, so my mom was like, "Aren't you going to help her?"  My dad returned reluctantly to the kitchen.  Hahahaha.  Snap.  But by then I'd already done over half the dishes, and only a few pots and pans were left.  So I told him, "Here, do these pots and I'm going to go type that email.  Fair?"  

And he freaked out.  First he flipped out over the fact that I'd asked if it was "fair" - he declared that household chores were things we all had to do, and it was wrong for me to determine what was fair and what was not.  Then he was all, "But I set the table!  You didn't do that!  So your job is to wash the dishes!"......What am I dealing with here, a six year old?  Jesus.  And he was scolding me about "fair".  Right.

So I told him to calm down and that I'd wipe the dishes.  Jeez.  Aw, I'm so mature.  Ugh.  Parents are so....ick.

Update (11:36 pm.):

My father just spent an hour editing and re-editing my email to Ms. Choukrane.  It is now perfectly perfect and written with such proper phrases that I am really afraid to craft my next email to her.  I feel like it has to be just as perfect and humble and intelligent-sounding.  Gah.  She'll probably think I'm an obsequious kiss-ass.  Oh well.  Maybe I am.

....