Two Can Play the Game WC 260

Two Can Play the Game

I came home from shopping today and walked past my son’s room. I almost fainted. I told him he could choose the paint color for his walls. He was busy painting them black.

“Black?”

“You said I could choose my color,” he said with a devilish smile.

I had.

“Black is so…black.”

“I love it, don’t you?” he said. “Never mind. I know you hate it.”

I did...I do.

“Is that why you did it?”

“Maybe a bit of teenage rebellion. Isn’t that what you call it, Mom?”

I do.

“I wore a coverall so I wouldn’t get any paint on my clothes,” he said. “I think that was a mature decision, don’t you?”

I did...I do.

I can’t ground him. I have no grounds.

“Well, dinner’s almost ready, Cameron,” I said. “It’ll be about a half an hour.”

Groceries in hand, I headed for the kitchen.

Cameron hates liver and onions and I just happened to have bought some for dinner with my sister tomorrow night. We both love it.

“Boy, I am really hungry,” he said as he entered the kitchen.

“Painting will make you work up an appetite,” I said.

“What is that smell?” he said, holding his nose.

“Dinner.”

“It smells like liver and onions,” he said as he backed away from the frying pan.

“I know.”

“Isn’t there anything else to eat?”

“Nope. I love liver and onions, so I guess you’re stuck with a little middle-age rebellion.”

I sat down to enjoy my meal; he headed for his “black” room.