Short Story Building

“What The F*%k Is Wrong With You sits at her weekday parents window casually watching the evening program of lethargic McDonald’s Happy mealed consumers, buses, taxis, livery cabs, drunken idiots, bored teenagers, pedestrians, and wanna be adults. The program rarely changes from night to night and provides some comfort that her favorite characters are always there. Somewhere in the apartment she hears You Son Of A Bi@*h softly playing with his action figures. Always softly they have to do everything lest you risk bringing the yelling of Mommy. Mommy has always been that way though. You would think now that The Baby is born things would be quieter. (The Baby by the way seems to have learned the soft and quiet lesson already. Not a peep from that child. Possibly a skill learned through osmosis from her older siblings.)

Tonight things should be fine though. What The F*%k Is Wrong With You has finished her homework. Best to get that out of the way before too many questions are asked and the yelling starts. Again. Always again the yelling will start. It is inevitable. You Son Of A Bi@*h will do something he is not supposed to, or What The F*%k Is Wrong With You will accidentally let slip that she only finished part of her homework (the same homework that was done before but inexplicably keeps reappearing unfinished) and then the comes the yelling. The yelling along with the lovely pet names such as you f*%king whore, mother f*%ker, and bi@*h (which, if you think about it, should be reserved for her bother only but everyone seems to get the title if the occasion presents itself). The nom de guerre was past out for as long as the children can remember. It does not really matter if she uses one name for several individuals, or things. One already knows that the yelling is directed at you even if she uses someone else descriptor. What The F*%k Is Wrong With You privately thanks whichever saint answered the prayer she made before coming home that this night would be quiet.

The upstairs neighbor Uninvolved Listener just shakes his head when the silence is finally broken. The yelling has returned like usually. He is no longer surprised or concerned. It has been three years of the same standard lines peppered with colorful language. In response to resurgence of the pet names and descriptive instructions for what good children should be doing he raises the volume on the TV louder. Always louder. And continues to be happy with his meal and privately says a prayer thanking whichever saint that he is now an adult.”