Chapter 8|Don't do binge watching kids - it's highly dangerous
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When I raced home in my slightly underwhelming car, which I'd bought second hand from one of my dads closest friends. I attempted a mad dash through the foyer to my room before my mother could great me like usual.
Why? You may ask.
Fortunately for you, I did not manage to escape the torment I was now about to endure as I tripped on the first couple of stairs and face planted the floor.
"Shit," I breathed against the marble, just as I heard the pause of shuffling kitchen towels and oven mitts.
Mother dearest, with her sharp ears and keen eyes flew out of where she was hiding - limbs ready to strike.
"Hello there my sweetheart! What's with the rush?" She welcomed in her overly saccharine filled smile. Mum was wearing her usual flour covered apron smelling of freshly baked goodies.
I pushed myself up and groaned as my back went bye-bye and my limbs practically screeched. I really needed to do some form of exercise. Apart from frantically escaping the clutches of my mother. I'm serious, it was probable that I'd be dead by next week.
"Oh there's no rush, I've just got to get ready for work, my shift starts early today." It didn't, but I could do with getting out the house before my mum made me do the house chores or worse, go for a jog. Plus my boss paid overtime and I needed the juicy pay check.
Oh you think living in this lavish home, with my rich parents made me exempt from the real world? Regrettably not.
Daddy dearest was oh so kind to strip away my allowance once I hit the ripe age of sixteen. My sweet sixteen wasn't so very...sweet.
"Gimme a kiss before you go upstairs and bring down your dirty laundry, I don't want to climb all the way to the attic for it." She leaned forward and presented me with her flour covered cheek.
I grimaced, but smacked a good one on her cheek. Then darted upstairs to grab the laundry and jump into the shower before she could say anything else.
Sue me. I'm not a bad kid - again with the whole debate on subjectiveness, blah blah. I just really really really don't like running up and down three flights of stairs every ten seconds as my mother orders away like an army general.
I practically glided up the stairs, red faced.This was like Ben Nevis on Heroine.
Once I succeeded in not fainting half way through the journey, the clack of small hooves brought me out of my unfit reverie and I squealed when I caught sight of a cute little fluff ball galloping towards me with velocity unlike anything I've seen.
"FALLIE!" I screamed, arms outstretched as I welcomed her into my arms. She raced into me with a loud "BAA!"
"Who's my good little girl?" I cooed, stroking her behind her ears like a dog. I looked into her eyes with a serious smile, but then the sight of her in one of my mums favourite pet outfits made me groan. Fallie looked at me in the overly sequinned, pink tutu as if to say, "I know, I look horrible,"
"Did my evil mother put you in this? No offence Fal, but you look like me back when wearing leg warmers used to be cool," She gave me a look, which for an animal was strikingly human.
"Come on, let's get you out of this and then I can go get changed myself." I walked up the remaining flights of stairs with Fallie in my clutches, giving myself a therapy session with a lamb who knew when to baa at the right thing.
My mother liked to put silly little costumes on Fal ever since we bought her from Grandads farm. She was a wee little sweetheart who's mother had just been butchered. What an unfortunate story, of course at the time I almost drowned the whole farmhouse with my crying until I got to take her away. And with begrudging sighs, a sympathetic smile my grandad placed her in my arms and I walked out the door with not a single tear on my face.
It seemed I was a professional actress then. Some might say I'm like the Cameron Diaz of my generation, except I'm not blonde, stunning and...um, successful.
I placed Fallie at the foot of my bed and headed towards my cupboard drawers in attempt to pick out some cute underwear. With a creepy smile I held out a lace set I got as a secret santa present from Rachel two years ago and turned to Fallie, who had since made my bed her fortress, and pressed the garments against my uniformed self. "What do you think Fal, do I look like a sexy bond woman yet?"
She gave me a long stare until her response was a mocking, "Baa!"
I narrowed my eyes at her, seeing a hint of a smile on her face. Where did she learn to mock me? "You watch your mouth young lady." I commented, before taking out my work uniform of a short sleeved blouse and black apron.
The apron was too glamourous for it to just be a waitressing outfit. It looked like something off the Versace runway, with gold lace detailing and trimmings all around the bottom.
My blouse looked super chic too. I was acutely surprised when they first handed me the uniform on my first shift. I thought they'd got the clothes mixed up in the washing machine and this was some poor naked lady's outfit. It took a convincingly long effort for my boss to persuade me to put it on and actually do my job.
I'd never been so tidy in my entire life. I went as far as to dust myself of the clothes every five seconds just incase a spec of water or dust managed to fly onto it.
Yet now, I was more inclined to dumping myself in tomato sauce. I hated it there.
Sue me, complaining about the working life. It's difficult - trying to balance five plates of italian dishes on each arm and having to run around like a headless chicken as old men in suits blew smoke in your face.
La Bella Vita was a place for dodgy italian men to discuss business. I'm pretty sure nearly all of our customers are part of the Mafia. I've recounted it to Bruno (the head chef) many times and each time I mention it he laughs at me and pushes an order in my face for service.
Call it women's intuition, I definitely smelt something fishy and it wasn't the Bottarga.
I didn't go through my usual hour long shower, instead taking a power shower which lasted an impressive ten minutes. I dressed up, dried and straightened my hair after giving a performance to the non existent fans in my bathroom and applied some light dewy makeup.
I glanced at my swag-worthy reflection and tried not to make a fuckboy face, but of course I had to, my features kinda automatically did it. What can I say, my insanely attractive profile knew how much sexy it held.
But then I dropped the expression and groaned at the grey shadows under my eyes. Great, just great. Now I looked like one of those aesthetic poetry boys who drank wine and smoked one too many cigarettes all whilst reciting Oscar Wilde.
It was kinda my own fault. I stayed up late last night binge watching The Office on my laptop until three o' clock in the morning.
Give a girl a good show and she'll demolish it in a night. Suffice to say, my parents are kinda used to me waking up ten hours late on weekends and my teachers have had enough of slapping rulers on my desk in effort to wake me up from my naps.
Don't do binge watching kids - it's highly dangerous.
Quickly spraying some perfume on myself and shooting guns at the mirror as I drooled over my sexy self, I moon walked out the door into my room and grabbed my coat.
Fallie was lazing about on my bed, ontop of the duvet in her newly changed comfortable outfit of a cute fluffy sweater, her eyes drawn to the TV as Farm Life played on the screen.
I pecked her head and gave her a little ruffle. "I'll see you after work Fal. Behave yourself." She didn't even respond to me. The audacity.
Before I forgot, I grabbed my laundry basket and ran downstairs before my mother came up and slapped me upside down. She was an impatient woman, deadly scary when I didn't do anything on time.
"Eat this before you go," she said as I entered the kitchen. I smiled at the cheese sandwich on the island table and practically shoved the laundry into her outstretched hands.
"All this, for me?" I smiled, taking a bite of the warm cheesy goodness. "You shouldn't have," I waved my hand absentmindedly, looking on the verge of having a foodgasm.
My mum slapped the back of my head and went back to retrieve a whole tray of gooey cookies from the oven. I could feel my mouth water up. "Don't even think about it. This is for Janine, she's coming over for tea," you mean to spill the tea.
I pouted, my grilled cheese forgotten. "But Janine is so- "
My mum gave me a look. "Watch your mouth,"
I smiled innocently at her. "-I was going to say nice."
"Yeah, right,"
I squawked. "What?! I was! You didn't let me finish my sentence,"
My mother shrugged, placing the cookies onto a cute tea tray letting them cool down. I just had to scoot over to the right in order to grab a crumb. "Touch them and you lose a finger."
"Haha, wh-I-touch what?" Real smooth.
"Don't you have to be at work right now?You're being a nuisance in my kitchen." Wasn't my mother so kind and sweet?
I stuffed the remainder of my sandwich down my throat and leapt out of the seat on my way to grab a glass of something to push it down. Bad idea, shoving nearly half a sandwich into my mouth, I almost choked and if it hadn't been for my mum coming to the rescue with a glass of water I would've died.
"How many times have I told you to chew your food, Heidi?!" She slapped my back as I coughed the cheese down. "My goodness, you're just as bad as your father,"
Through my tearful gaze I gulped the water back, avoiding her gaze. "Sorry," I squeaked out. In this particular situation I was a mouse. It was my mother, she's a lion in comparison to me.
"Yeah, yeah. Now skedaddle missy, I've a dinner to prepare." She wiped her hands on her apron and began to ball up some more cookie dough.
Like the mouse that I was, I carefully sneaked my way round the kitchen island, nearing the exit and pretended I was leaving. But before my mother could decapitate my hand with her kitchen knife, I picked up a piece and stuck it down my throat and was gone with the wind.
"HEIDI DELARA LOSIÈR!" With wide eyes and a frantic heart, I shrugged on my coat and galloped out the house before my mother could skin me alive.
Scrap frightening Italian boys, the only person I am truly afraid of is my own mother.