quick story

Too many choices, too many choices. How on earth did mom do this once a week? I mean, I like chocolate, but Frankie likes vanilla, and Susie likes strawberry, and dad, well dad likes beer. I was so looking forward to coming here and getting whatever I wanted and filling my own fridge with it. And then eating my food, the food I chose, and not having to worry about whether or not someone else ate it already. This place needs to turn the lights down, I’m going to get a sunburn with the amount of ultra violet rays that are raining down on my head. Maybe I’ll get melanoma and die and then never have to come back here again. Maybe I should have never moved out, I got my laundry done, free food that I didn’t have to shop for, as well as free internet and gas money. Those were the days, it was only last month but it feels like a lifetime ago. How on earth can someone possibly pick what kind of pickles they want, when there are easily thirty seven different kinds of pickles to choose from, I know, I counted. I feel like I am going to go into a epileptic seizure from all the different bright ads that jump out at you to tell you what’s on sale, and the exact amount of trans fat is in their deal. The signs are not nearly as bad as the produce section however. How am I supposed to choose a fruit? I felt like an idiot standing next to that soccer mom. She would casually pick up a nectarine, work some magic with it in her hand and then toss it back into the pile. I don’t know any nectarine spells. How can she tell which ones to take home and which ones not to? They should have some kind of pre-moving out training that prepares you for moving out on your own. How did I know that I really should have been growing up while I was growing up? I thought that this knowledge just came with me as I left the house. I have been here for three hours and my basket has three items in it milk, cherry Garcia ice cream, and a toothbrush.
“Rebecca?”
Who’s that ? “Mom!” Never in a million years did I think I would be this happy to see my mom.