Some of you may know that my daughter (code name: Legal) thinks I am The Devil. Some of you may guess that I don't care. You would be correct.
I can't tell you how excited I was when she turned eighteen, and not just because her juvenile record would be sealed. I thought she might be inspired to, oh I don't know, do something with her life. Because what eighteen year old wants to live with their mother? Especially this mother.
But it's six months later and six months closer to her being nineteen and nothing has changed. She doesn't go to school and doesn't work. She puts the dinner dishes in the dishwasher, vacuums a couple of times a week and most Sunday nights she puts The Boy and Boss Lady in the bathtub and hoses them down. In return for these Cinderella-esque tasks, she demands a weekly flat rate of $20, plus cigarette money and an endless supply of Rockstar energy drinks. The warm room and running water ... well, that's just a given.
She has broken every curfew and crossed every line drawn in the sand. She has, on several occasions, stayed out all night without so much as a phone call. I've busted her smoking pot. This doesn't come as a surprise seeing as how she has a pot leaf the size of my palm tattooed on her fucking thigh.
My daughter is beautiful and smart. She's artistic and capable of so much more than social networking and straightening her hair.
I love my daughter. In fact, I love her enough to tell her that she has to leave. And that is exactly what I've done.
So this weekend, Legal will be moving in with her uncle (Puppet Boy ) and his partner (My Gay). In exchange, I get my mother. I haven't thought of a good nickname for her yet but I'm sure that once she moves in and annoys the fuck out of me, I'll be inspired.
This could be a great thing for my daughter. She might learn a few things about leaving the nest. Simple truths, like deodorant doesn't magically appear in the medicine cabinet; that life sucks when you're out of Tampax and have to use copious amounts of toilet paper as a makeshift pad; that Top Ramen can be eaten for breakfast, lunch and dinner.
So what's your take, Innernetz. Did you ever have to push your little birds out of the nest?