I had a gigantic blow out with my daughter last night and she didn't like it one damn bit but hey, it's my house and my rules, and I just said, "Pal, you can scream and yell until your face turns blue but from now on this place is a 'Twilight'-free environment, so get used to it!"
Dear God, you should've heard the reaction, the terrible injustice being inflicted on her fragile spirit. "You don't understand!" Oh, but I do, I understand that whole teenage vampire crew top to bottom and they're not getting any more jollies on my property, period.
"You're just like all the other parents!" No, if I was like other parents I wouldn't care about the mess those twits leave behind after their midnight covens, weird claw marks on the lampshades and sticky blood residue on the sofa. Other parents can afford to send their furniture to the cleaners. I have to confront those hemoglobin stains without professional assistance and I'm here to tell you that Resolve and Oxi-Clean are the home hygiene equivalent of silver bullets.
No more. Good riddance. How those pubescent nattering nabobs of Nosferatu got to be so groovy and popular is beyond bizarre, and I told her that, too.
"You don't know what it's like for them!" She's SO lucky I didn't fall down laughing and crack my head open when I heard that, but I did manage to blurt out, "Quick! Somebody cue the violins!"
That "you don't know what it's like for them" crapola is, in my un-humble opinion, history's biggest broken record, which she also didn't want to hear from old "been there, heard that" daddy-o.
"What YOU need to understand," I explained, "is how these people game the system everywhere they go, and your demographic is always a prime target." For once she didn't have an instant comeback, which meant she was starting to think I might be right, which made me decide I should cut immediately to the chase.
"You and I are getting older," was my line of attack, "and they aren't. So think about this: when you're grown up and raising your own children, those moonbeam morons will still be trolling around the campus cafeteria hitting on the next crop of incoming freshmen."
"That seems creepy," she admitted.
"It's what happens when you have no biological clock," I said. "They don't need to think about social security staying solvent, or Medicare Plan-B. All they have going for them is their own self-absorbed, angst-ridden youth narrative, with a paranormal kink in the hose, and after a few more decades it'll be so boring they won't even be able to pitch the storyline to the USA Network for an afterschool special. 'Creepy' isn't the right description. I think 'pathos' is more appropriate."
Notice how I didn't forbid her from hanging out with the vamp-ettes, or going to movies with them, and I specifically did not use the word EVIL in any sentence because there was plenty of firepower in my ammunition bag without resorting to insults or name-calling. She got the message loud and clear, and I'm happy to report that she's already gone public with my new
I know this because one of the Fang Gang stud muffins just phoned me to say what a bad person I am and how disappointed he is that any adult in the 21st century could be so backward and misguided.
"I'm, like, totally offended that you won't even let us in your house," he complained. "It shows a complete lack of respect and tolerance on your part. Obviously you're filled with irrational fear of the occult, and you don't care anything at all about making America a more inclusive society."
You know what I said to that little dead-ass loser? "Bite me."
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