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Nov. 7th, 2004 10:36 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
froodleParentals arrived this afternoon. Sigh. I love them and appreciate that they came all the way here to spend my birthday with me, but they can be trying. Someone had knocked over our bins and gone through all the rubbish, and they decided to stand outside in the rain and talk about this for ten minutes instead of going inside where it was warm and toasty. Sigh.
Dad then proceeded to bitch and whine about lack of TV aerial and insist that I find the one he bought me three years ago, used for six months and then relegated to one of the boxes labelled "Tat" that have gone untouched since my last move. Searched a couple of boxes, couldn't find it and declared that it was gone forever. Parentals bitch and moan about the need for a TV, as if Simon Cowell and Emmerdale are somehow vital to my existance. They declare that they shall buy me one, because of course the fact that I don't want one and more importantly, don't want to pay for a TV license is naught compared to the agony they feel on being denied Top Gear. More sigh.
Birthday shopping will occur on the morrow. They want to buy me a watch for my 21st. Am already seeing scenes of hideous, overpriced wristjunk similar to Mother's diamond-studded monstrosity and Dad's Mr T-esque bling being paraded in front of my eyes. May gouge them out in pre-emptive strike against ugly jewellery.
Dad then proceeded to bitch and whine about lack of TV aerial and insist that I find the one he bought me three years ago, used for six months and then relegated to one of the boxes labelled "Tat" that have gone untouched since my last move. Searched a couple of boxes, couldn't find it and declared that it was gone forever. Parentals bitch and moan about the need for a TV, as if Simon Cowell and Emmerdale are somehow vital to my existance. They declare that they shall buy me one, because of course the fact that I don't want one and more importantly, don't want to pay for a TV license is naught compared to the agony they feel on being denied Top Gear. More sigh.
Birthday shopping will occur on the morrow. They want to buy me a watch for my 21st. Am already seeing scenes of hideous, overpriced wristjunk similar to Mother's diamond-studded monstrosity and Dad's Mr T-esque bling being paraded in front of my eyes. May gouge them out in pre-emptive strike against ugly jewellery.
