"Well, it's cleaner. Oops. Caitlin's here. See you later," she said, then slipped out the door carrying four outfits, a suitcase full of make-up, an extra bathing suit and enough beach towels to launch one of those big super beach stores with the gigantic fake sharks on the front.
I trudged up to her room. The door was shut. Cautiously, I edged it open and stepped inside.
The trash can overflowed, the bed was unmade, the carpet couldn't be seen under the blanket of clothes covering it and stuff was piled everywhere. I couldn't be sure, but I think I even saw something move. It was probably old food, so infested with bacteria that it had taken on a life of its own. Later we revisited the subject.
"I thought you said your room was clean," I told her.
"No, Mom," she corrected. "I said it was 'cleaner.'"
"Cleaner? Cleaner than what? The landfill?" I expected seagulls to start circling over our house at any moment.
"Mom," my daughter said with the patience of one who's used to dealing with those who are slow-witted, "I didn't say my room was 'clean.' I said was it was 'cleaner.' In this case it's cleaner than it was because I picked up a few things before I left."
This is the child who can split a hair fifty different ways. The one who has never seen a black or white issue. Arguing with her brings my blood pressure to new highs. Like the bathing suit discussion we had.
She has more bathing suits than I have owned in my entire life all put together. I used to get a new one every year – if I'd grown. If I was the same size, then I wore last year's until it fell apart.
Daughter dearest has a half dozen suits, none of which (if you'll pardon the expression) currently "suit" her.
Last year she loaned some girl she barely knew half of one of her two-piece bathing suits. A new one she'd never worn. She's never gotten it back. Another one she doesn't like anymore. Still another one she's worn too many times and everyone's seen. And on and on and on.
This year she had to have a one-piece to go to church camp, so I bought her one. She didn't like it, so she picked out another one and I bought her that one, too. Turns out, she doesn't like it, either. Then she said I needed to buy her yet another new swimsuit to wear to a birthday party she'd been invited to attend.
"Wear one you already have," I told her.
"I don't like them," she said.
"Tough."
"All right – I just won't go to the party," she said.
I shrugged. "Suit yourself."
"I'll just stick around here, listen to my music, maybe get in the kitchen and bake something…"
I could hear the sounds of whining teen-angst played at top volume, as she turns my kitchen into a sticky disaster area. Dishes piled to the ceiling. Three pounds of chocolate chips missing. The floor covered with flour….
"You win," I said. "Let's go buy you a new bathing suit."
Did I mention she wants to be a lawyer?
