passion...schmassion

day 10543: doghouse

Here’s the scoop on the maternal unit. She tends to overreact about things. Not just little overreactions, but big, BIG overreactions…

She hated it when I got my hair highlighted in first year university. I was nineteen. She didn’t talk to me for a week.

She hated it when my sister got her belly button pierced. She was twenty-one.

She hated it when I got dawg... she didn’t talk to me for a month. Fun times.

She absolutely hated it when I moved downtown last summer instead of to her house… I’m still feeling the repercussions of that one.

Over the years, we’ve learned how deal with her overreactions. Quite simply (and I’m not advocating this method, by any means...), we just don’t tell her things unless it’s absolutely necessary. Or we tell her scaled down versions of the truth (i.e. my bartending courses and Smart-Serve license was an “industry knowledge” course, etc. etc.).

What she doesn’t know doesn’t hurt her. What she does know hurts us.

I’m not a confrontational person. I don’t like dealing with things until absolutely necessary. Hence, to save myself heartache (and earache) I never told her about the motorcycle course. Nor have I told her about wanting to purchase a motorcycle with the full intention of riding it as much as possible.

Long story short… she found out today. Shit hit the fan, and now I’m in the doghouse. And as usual, I will ride it out in typical stoic styles. Time usually heals everything... I wonder how long it will last this time.