I hate you.
I don't care that you're my mom, I don't care how many times you drone on and on about how you've "Always wanted a daughter that you could connect with and be friends with."
No. I hate you.
You make me feel like
sh*t, you tease Dad about his weight; your pathetic sense of--dare I call it--"humor" is making me, and the parent that I actually like, feel utterly self-conscious. And the fact that you stuff all your responsibilities onto ME is complete BS. Can't watch the puppy? Put him in the dam* crate. You yell at me when you can't find your keys. Oh, and where are they? In the basement. Huh. Must've been the key fairy.
I don't like you. I remember never liking you. And chances are, I never will.