A shrill scream came from the bathroom.
“YOU CHANGED MY TOOTHPASTE?!”
The door swung open and a bright young girl with jet black hair and a spunky pink ensemble trampled out of the room. You could almost see the steam coming out of her ears as if Suri O’Quinn was a cartoon.
“What is it now, dear?” her dad said as he lowered the newspaper from in front of his face.
“Toothpaste is not something you can just mess with!” said Suri, indignantly.
“Well, I’m sorry, dear,” her mother explained as she turned around from cooking the platypus-shaped pancakes, “but the expiration date was for this Friday.”
“Well, I could’ve used it until this Friday,” Suri pulled out a chair and slumped down, “You know, Mother, sometimes the thought crosses my mind that you don’t think things through all the time.”
Suri rolled her eyes, letting out a superior sigh.
You could see the newspaper trembling and it was obvious that Mr. O’Quinn was chuckling behind it.
Suri gasped, slightly offended, and said, “If I weren’t so hungry right now, and if I didn’t love pancakes and platypuses so much, I’d pack up all my valuables and storm right out of here.”
“I believe the word is ‘platypi’,” said her father.
Suri gathered up all the air her lungs could hold and exhaled the word, “What?”
“Well, I think ‘platypus’ is ‘platypi’ when it’s in the plural.”
“You know, darling,” her mother put in, gently, “I really don’t think you’d actually run away.”
“You know what? I’ll prove to you!”
And with that, the over-dramatic fifteen-year-old stomped out of the kitchen, surprising everyone by packing up all her valuables and storming right out there.
