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Reasonable Requests My Mother Rejected

July 24, 2012

When I was a kid, my mom rejected a lot of perfectly reasonable requests. Oftentimes, she did this with a loud "NO" that echoed throughout the house, vehicle, or even Walmart if we happened to be there at the time. Some of her least-logical, most-unfair vetoes:

"Can I have a tattoo for my birthday?"
"Not a chance."
"Why not?"
"You’re twelve."
"Oh. Can I have a flamethrower instead?"
"How come?"
"You’re twelve."
"But I’m turning thirteen next week."
"Okay. So ‘no’ because you’re thirteen. If you want to play with fire, join the fire department or the military."
"Can I at least get a car to practice driving on? I’ll be great at driving in a few years when I can get my license."
"Hell. No."

Next day:
"Can I have books for my birthday? I made a list."
"You aren’t getting The Anarchist’s Cookbook."
"Why not? You keep yelling at me to learn more about cooking, don’t you?"
"En. Oh. No. What is it with you and things that shoot flames or blow up?"

"Can we have a tree house in the living room? Joe already got on the roof to start sawing a hole."
"NO!" (Yelled over her shoulder while running out the front door.)

"Can I shave my head and get a brain tattooed on my scalp, like you can see through my skull?"

"My friend just got off being grounded."
"The one who was caught shoplifting?"
"Yeah, that’s her. Can we go to the store?"
"I’m going to pretend you didn’t really just ask me that."

"Can I get my face tattooed to look like Raphael?" [Ninja Turtles]

"Can we have a Super Soaker fight in the house?"

"Hey, you know what would be cool, Mom? A heart tattoo with ‘Mom’ written across it. Because I love you."
"You know what would be cool, Myra? If you didn’t constantly bug me about getting a tattoo when I’ve said no twenty thousand times. When you’re eighteen, you can take your own money down to the tattoo parlor and do whatever you want. Until then, I don’t want to hear it. And don’t think I can’t see the gears turning in your head. If you come home with a tattoo before your eighteenth birthday, it’s coming right off. With a belt sander."

"Can I have pet scorpions?"

"I have an idea. We pour bacon grease on the bathroom floor. The dog licks it all up. I don’t have to mop anymore. Can you make bacon real quick?"

"Can I have a pet monkey?"
"But monkeys have really sharp teeth. Just think about somebody trying to kidnap me, but getting a bunch of razor monkey teeth in his face."
"Sweetheart, nobody’s going to kidnap you."
"Not if I have an attack monkey."
"I admire your attempt to use logic. I really do. But no."

Really, though, I don’t know where Mom got the massive supply of patience required to take care of me when I was a kid. I’m still surprised she never duct taped my mouth shut.


From → Family

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