Tormenting the Teen

Every now and then, I get to torment the teen…and life is good.

See, Diva, as teen girls often do, has discovered the joys of chatting on the phone.

Tormenting the teen

I’d like to phone a friend, please?

Since we’re old-fashioned, meanie poo poo head parents, she doesn’t own a cell. We flat-out refuse to get her one. When *she* can afford it, *she* can get one, and not a moment before.

Which means she’ll get a phone sometime after she moves out. Maybe.

Anyways. The revenge story. And yes, this is so revenge for the Spider That Could’ve Eaten My Face

Diva, like every other child I’ve birthed, seemed to have a radar, especially when she was younger, about when I was on the phone.

And that’s when all holy heck would break loose. It seemed to be that when the kids could have my undivided attention, I was background noise. But the moment they *couldn’t* have it, well, they NEEDED it. No matter how many times we’ve said, “Are you bleeding? Profusely? On fire? Is anyone or anything else? No? THEN WAIT TIL WE’RE DONE!” they persist on harassing me when I’m mid phone call…and bonus points if it’s important, such as Revenue Canada, dealing with a utility company, or anything else that I’ve finally gotten ahold of a real live person after being on hold for an hour. (They never do this while I’m on hold, how does that work?)

So. Last night, Diva was chatting with a friend of hers.

*poke* *poke* *poke* I start.

She interrupts her convo. “Mother, why are you poking me?”

“Cause I wanna.” *poke* *poke* *poke*

“Stop it!”

“Ok.” Then I REALLY went into gear.


“Can you WHAT?”

“I dunno.”

Then I started calling things out at random, from years gone by.


She was forced to explain to her friend that her mother is insane.


Tormenting the Teen. I wonder if they can make it an Olympic sport?

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