OK, watch this; see if I don't win. I detest work
but I need a milkshake. Ready? Here goes:
I saunter in the kitchen door.
“I love you, little Sweetness and Light,” my mother says.
“Whatever,” I answer, and keep on walking.
Hear the grump in my voice? She deserves it.
First, I’m not little. I’m a teenager, and I tower
over her. OK, only by an inch or two,
Anyway, I’m not little, I’m not sweet,
and I generate no light, except
perhaps toward any witches who see auras.
I stroll toward the stairs a few steps, then turn back
"OK, what do you want?” She asks.
“Friendship,” I say.
She guesses right, of course.
I hug her mostly only when I want something.
The rest of the time, she vanishes into the background
or disappears off my radar entirely.
I do want something. I want a LOT. I want money.
I want to stay up all night and sleep all day.
I want to eat candy, drink soda, play video games
and watch TV. Hang out with my friends.
I want no school, homework, baths, clean clothes.
I want to refuse to practice the piano, clean my room
clean the bird cage and bury the compost.
Fat chance; but if I play my cards right . . .
I hug her again, stroke her hair. “Friend,” I say.
make their friends milkshakes.
“Oh,” she says, “you want to make me a milkshake,
how sweet. You charm me with your generosity.”
“Awwwwww . . .” I release a big sigh
but already, she hauls out the milk
“Chocolate,” I yell, as I dash upstairs.
Don’t tell Mom, but I often create a perfect milkshake.
I just hate to wash the blender.
Now I can leap into Runescape and see if Simon
or George killed any monsters yet.
Mary Stebbins Taitt