“Mom,” she whines, “do I really have to go?”
The mother sighs. One week, she thinks, one week without this. Then she says firmly, “Yes, you have to go.”
The girl persists, “But it’s Saturday!”
“Exactly,” the mother tries to be patient, “and on Saturdays we go to the beach. Everyone’s expecting us to be there. The whole family’s going and I am not going to leave you alone, now go upstairs and get your suit on.”
The girl huffs, but turns to go up the stairs. The mom goes to the kitchen to finish making lunch while the father is outside getting all the essentials in the car. Soon, the teenage daughter comes down again to see her mom putting the last sandwich in the basket.
“What’s for lunch?” She acts as if she has already forgotten the argument from before.
“Tuna,” the mother responds.
“But I’m tired of tuna!” She’s starting to whine again and her mother’s not in the mood for it.
She keeps packing. “That’s what we have and that’s what you’ll eat, young lady.”
“But mom,” the girl is almost yelling, “can’t I have something else?”
The mother’s tired of this. “Fine,” she snaps, “what do you what to eat?”
The girl shrugs, “I dunno. Maybe I’ll just get a hot dog at the beach or something.”
The mother cocks her head. “Funny.”
“I thought so. But did you at least leave the eggs out this time?”
They turn to go, adjusting their protective suits as the dad comes in for final preparations. “All set,” he beams as he hands each a shotgun, “you ladies ready?”
“Yeah,” says the mom, “let’s go.”
As they leave the house, the teenager states, in the matter of fact way only teenagers have, “Life sucks since the fish people nuked everything! They’re ruining my weekends!”
The mom responds, “True, but if we don’t take our turns keeping their legions in the sea, who will. Plus, if we don’t go, where will we get food?”
The girl shrugs. “I guess. Daddy, can I drive?”