that plant is plastic.

by charlotte guest.

My parents think I'm a moron.

I know this because I'm staring at a note that says close the fridge door, which is next to another note that says feed the dog.

I open the fridge door, get some juice, and sit at the kitchen table that has an A4 piece of paper sellotaped to it. It's titled Daily Jobs.




  1. Pick up dog poo (with shovel)
With shovel? Okay cool. Otherwise I would have picked it up with my bare hands.
  1. Check the post (it doesn't come on the weekends)
  2. Water the plants (inside and outside)
  3. Put the bins out (NB: this is a weekly job. Put out on Wednesdays. You may like to look down the road to see which bin-week it is according to the neighbours).
  4. Clean things
Underneath is a notes section:
There is a fire extinguisher behind the microwave.
Don't let the dogs wee on the curtains.

I'm frankly offended.

I remember dad taking me on a tour of my own premises before they left. We stood on the verandah surveying the garden. “Don't water that plant” he said, “it's plastic”.

They didn't warn me about having parties or wrecking the place through too much fun, only through apathetic negligence. There is no note on the booze cupboard. There isn't even a door.

So they also think I'm a loser.

I strike an angry pose in my bunny slippers. I take a chardonnay from out the cupboard, This'll show them, I'll drink the whole thing then put the empty bottle back on the rack.

I pour a glass, right to the brim, and take a swig. Sweet, sweet acidic wine. Then I take a look at the TV guide. Catalyst at 7:30, then Four Corners at 8.
Hells.
Yes.




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