There I was, sitting the in the back of my parents’ car at 7:15 in the morning with nothing other than the sound of pouring rain on the roof of the car.
Then – it started.
It was an apparent daily ritual, an exchange of conversation designed to make anyone uncomfortable. It resembled this.
Dad: “When you die, I’m going to marry a 35 year old.”
Mom: “When you die, I’m going to marry a 25 year old – and guess who’s statistically more likely to keel over first.”
And there I am, shifting uncomfortably in the back seat, cursing myself for not bringing my iPod.
Dad: “Shareen, I want you to find me a good looking 35 year old who doesn’t want children.”
Me: “Just stop it. Both of you.”
Did they listen to my desperate plea?
Of course not.
It’s because of my stupid addiction to doughnuts that I was strapped into the backseat of this car, listening to the conversation of what never to say to your spouse.
My dear mother, who is completely aware of my weakness to sugar coated anything, exploited my kryptonite, so that I could accompany her and endure this torture as she dropped him off at work. At this point, I couldn’t tell if she called on my services as a witness or an audience.
Several self esteem blowing come backs and agonizing moments later, we pulled in the Universities’ Engineering Department’s parking lot.
I tuned out their adoring banter and stared out the window at all the sullen faces. Each student look more depressed than the previous as they clutched desperately on to their calculators and hugged their precious tablets to their chests.
One by one, each glared at me as we drove on by- it was as if they could smell my Journalism Degree. A major completely alien to them.
When we finally arrived at my dad’s building, my dad reached for my mother’s face and said, “Oh, you are so beautiful. I love you so much. Don’t call me.” And with that he slammed the car door shut.
Perplexed, I reached for the door handle and pushed.
“Child locked? Are you serious?” I asked.
My parents shared a comical giggle through the window as my father opened the door for me – like I was a little girl.
I eagerly jumped into the front seat – like a kid awaiting my allowance.
And like she promised, my mom headed to fulfill her end of the bargain – she took me to the doughnut shop.
Five minutes later her phone rang – it was my dad.
He called to tell her he loved her.
Later that day, my mother asked me if I wanted to tag along and pick up my dad from work.
No doughnut could get me to do that again.
I will never understand their relationship.
Sweet Dreams World.