All Fed Up…

This also came to me in the form of an assignment, but will make a wonderful prompt as well. Mary was fed up with Bob and… My assignment was to write something with that as the opening line. This was as much of a venting session as it was a work of creative writing…

Mary was fed up with Bob and… Just… and. She couldn’t quite figure out what the ‘and’ part of it was yet, but when she did, things were going to change. The incessant thumping from his room at all hours of the night from the hard rock and techno he preferred kept everyone else in the house up, despite the constant complaints. The midnight snack he was prone to was more like a meal, and every morning when she got up to get ready for the day, there was another sink-load of dishes to be cleaned even though the sink and drying rack were both empty the night before. He was a straight A college student, and he was busy with homework eighty percent of the time when he was home. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t do the darn dishes every now and then.

She picked up one of the offending dishes, still perched precariously on the edge of the black granite counter before someone – most likely the cat – knocked it on the floor and broke it. She stared in disbelief. Something had been melted to the plate. He didn’t even have the decency to put it in the sink and soak it? GRRRRR! Enough was enough. Her nose twitched, her lip curled up as she rummaged through the storage closet and dug out one of those old child safety latches, the ones that look like an octopus with it’s little zip-tie-like straps that caused the need for ten thumbs plus an extra hand to operate correctly, and put it on the first pair of cupboard doors. She gave a light tug to one of the doors and to her delight, it didn’t budge an inch.

“Morning, Ma,” he said, going directly to her to start his morning the way he started every morning. He scratched his ribs through the plain white t-shirt he wore, yawning immensely, causing his eyes to pinch shut as he walked.

“Good morning,” she replied cheerily, sipping on her own steaming mug of coffee while she read the newspaper at the kitchen table. He kissed the top of her head, then did a one-eighty to open the glass door that housed the coffee mugs, stopping abruptly, digging his fingernails into his scalp through his brown hair. Glancing about the kitchen, he noted the line of safety latches guarding the contents of the cabinets. Bob took a few steps back and leaned his butt against the table next to his mother and reached for her mug to steal a gulp while he pondered the mechanics of the contraption keeping him from his morning brew. She read her son quicker than a lightening strike though, and dropped her hand possessively over the top of her mug, drawing it in closer. He sighed, rolled his gray eyes, made a face behind her back and turned back to the cupboard.

“So do we have a poltergeist or something?” he teased, reaching up to try and make a go of the latch.

“Mmhm. He likes to eat our food and leaves piles of dishes to be washed by someone who got no enjoyment out of the meal what-so-ever,” she said. He made a noise, his concentration on the stubborn latch. He hadn’t heard a word she’d just said. Bob shook his head while he tried to contort his hands to get the latch to release.

“Ma, can you get this thing open? Please?”

“What? You mean the engineer can’t get a simple latch to open?” Mary asked, finally turning to him, one dark brow raised over a set of blue eyes.

“Ma! I need my morning brew,” he said, “and I can’t get this stupid thing open.”

She couldn’t keep the vindictive smile hidden any longer, so she let it take over, a dimple flashing to life on her right cheek.



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