Living In A Pressure Cooker

(I’m a college student home for the summer. No matter how many applications I fill out and who I talk to, nobody wants to hire just summer help, so I’m without a job so far. To make up for this, I babysit when I can and sell some crafts to try to pay tuition. Because I’m home so much, my mom expects me to cook every day. I’m fine with this because she does pay for my food, but it soon gets to be too much.)

Mom: “So, for dinner tomorrow I want you to make a meatloaf and those cheese and bacon potatoes.”

Me: “All right. Don’t forget I’m going out with [Older Sister] and the kids to [Amusement Park] Wednesday, so I can’t cook.”

Mom: “Oh… I guess we’ll just have hot dogs that day.”

Me: “Whatever you guys want. She’ll feed me at the park.”

Mom: “It’s such a hassle when you go out, you know. I have to cook.”

Me: “What do you guys do when I’m at school?”

Mom: “I have to cook. I make hamburgers, hot dogs, and spaghetti. Fast and easy dinners.”

Me: “Oh… okay.”

Mom: “Like, when you went out with Friend] last week, I HAD to make spaghetti. When you go out with [Best Friend], I HAVE to cook.”

(My brothers and fathers are all adults capable of cooking for themselves.)

Me: “I’m sorry.”

Mom: “You need to stop going out so much. I need you at home to cook.”

(This is why I’m a resident.)