"You have a way with words" I've been told.
Apparently, my delivery of speeh and word choice can influence almost anyone to believe me, and make almost anyone feel guilty and/or burst into tears. As you can imagine, this evil superpower of mine always helps me win an argument. Everytime my "Parental Sequestration Sense" tingles, I can usually escape my parent's threats to take away everything I hold dear to in this world. (Specifically, my laptop then friends, and yes, in that order). However, I have finally faced the day where my ability to avoid punishment has failed me. On July 31, 2009, I went to Disneyland, "The Happiest Place On Earth", which was mistake no. 1 on that fateful day.
It was way past 11:oo. Mistake no. 2.
(My provisional licence doesn't let me drive between the hours of 11:oo pm and 5:oo am or something.)
I was driving over 85 in a 65 zone. Mistake no. 3.
I had every intention of racing home, sneaking in, blogging about my wonderful day at Disneyland, and no one would ever know I was driving when I wasn't supposed to. Mistake no. 4.
OF COURSE, my car starts swerving uncontrollably, and I throw up my hands and start singing, "Jesus take the wheel!..."
Haha, just kidding...
But, in all seriousness, I experienced the fun adventure of getting a flat tire. God's punishment no. 1.
As I dangerously made my way over to the side lane, I shuddered at the thought of my next task: awkening the beast. Literally. I knew my dad (and my mom, but she isn't as beastly as my father) would be fast asleep and completely unaware that I was out past my cerfew. My dad's first words? "I'M GOING TO KILL HER!" God's punishment no. 2.
After waiting half an hour for my parents to get up, get pissed off, get dressed, get more pissed off, get over to me, and get pissed off all up in my face, my dad finally started to change my tire. The process seemed endless, especially since I was alone in the car on the side of the freeway with my smoldering mother (with no other witnesses). To my relief, he finally finished, and volunteered to drive my car home "just in case" (whatever that meant). He got into my little Cabrio, and drove off. Mistake no. 5.
My mother, who had finally calmed down, tried to start their car, but OH WAIT! The battery died. God's punishment no. 3.
If only you could imagine how the flames of anger were quickly aroused.
We ended up waiting an hour for a towtruck to give us a jumpstart, and the filler conversation (as you can imagine) was less than pleasent.
However, I survived my parents wrath with no punishment other than having to listen to them saying "at least your safe" every time the see me, my car, or a tire.
Don't worry, I've taken out my hearing aid.
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