The Angry Geologist Grows Up

[hertinkness]

I just got off the phone with my parents, and somehow we got into a conversation about how other people's houses were decorated. I mentioned that I had seen one apartment where they had turned the dining area into a sort of library and breakfast nook, and I was debating getting some bookshelves. I need more book storage space, the little Ikea bookshelf isn't cutting it anymore.

"Don't go out and buy the most expensive thing," Mom said, always frugal. It's how she grew up. It's still really hard to convince her to do stuff for herself, and she feels guilty everytime she does. When she brought home her new sewing machine, she had this expression on her face like she had hit a homeless guy on the way home and had stuffed his body in the trunk.

"I was planning on buying secondhand, anyway. There's some nice antique stores around here, and I was looking for an excuse to go."

"Good- and don't pay too much, no matter what they tell you its made out of."

I laughed and reassured her that I wouldn't. "Hey, I won't even have to have it delivered- I can just wait until I'm out in the field, and I can use a company truck. Just zip over, load it up, drop it off, and have everything back to equipment and supply before you can say 'P-52's broke down again!'"

Dad said, "So you're driving the truck now, huh?"

I kind of puzzled over this; I'm the oldest child and the only girl, so there's two reasons for my parents to worry sick about me. I was their first try- my brother owes me big time for breaking them in. "Er- yeah. It's no big deal. It's just a pickup truck."

Dad laughed. "Sweetie, don't take this the wrong way, but you've really grown up! I can remember when you wouldn't drive the tractor, and you were scared of my pickup!" In my defense, my dad was usually unhappy when I mowed the lawn (none of the oak saplings in the eastern part survived that year), and he was usually growling at me when I was driving the truck (learner's permit, ahoy!), so I was kind of turned off by that. But yeah. I had gotten over it.

I laughed too. "Yeah, Dad, I guess I have."

Heh. I want a cookie and a star sticker.

Comments

*cookie*

[baseballchica03.livejournal.com]

When I had my permit, my dad tried to teach me to drive on his beat-up 1987 Ford Bronco precisely once. It did not go well, with the yelling and the crying and the OHMYGODINTERSECTION. :-p After that, my mom took over.

Re: *cookie*

[angry-geologist.livejournal.com]

My mom was actually worse. She wouldn't growl as loudly, but she'd do the stomp-on-the-invisible-brake-pedal thing. I hate that!

Re: *cookie*

[baseballchica03.livejournal.com]

Haha, my mom still does that. She and my dad were both driver ed instructors at one point (my dad for semis, even!), so she claims it's an automatic reaction. She had an Escort, anyway, which was much, much easier for me to maneuver. I still can't really handle big suvs or trucks very well. Me and my tiny Escort get along juuuuuuust fine. :)

[zhukora1.livejournal.com]

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[nibot.livejournal.com]

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