“Now Jimmy,” Mom admonished. “You were those heavy boots when you cut the grass! We paid good money for them and you need to wear them. If you don’t, you’ll slip when the grass is wet and get your feet eaten up by the lawn mower.”
Mom was always over-dramatizing. Didn’t she know I could take care of myself? I was fifteen years old. I’d been taking care of myself for years. Just last month I’d managed to sizzle a Steak-um in the frying pan. It’d turned out pretty good – and it’d been pretty easy to clean up those grease stains on the kitchen cabinets. No big deal, even though Mom had acted like I’d ripped her favorite leisure suit to shreds.
“Say, Jimmy …” Mom added.
“Jimmy!” I replied.
“Don’t be smart. Always a smart-aleck, you’ll get yourself in trouble one day. Now Jimmy, I want you to fold a load of laundry for me. Can you do that for me?”
“Ah, Mom, I’m watching Speed Racer.”
That did it for Mom. She marched over to the television and turned it off. She wagged her finger at me – I didn’t like it when she did that, especially if she was wearing her pointy glasses – so I shrugged my shoulders and headed down the stairs. It was just a load of laundry after all. And perhaps I would rip her favorite leisure suit to shreds, after all.
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