Demon Child

I am beyond doubt the worst child ever born to a family. I’m sure everyone hates me. If I had me as a family member I would hate me as well. A while ago I had a flat tire and Baba was away somewhere, Mexico I think. Or Salalah, can’t remember, anyway he wasn’t here and its his car that I was driving and I went to get the tire changed then the guy at the petrol station tried to rip me off and charge me like a thousand rials just to change the tire, so of course I said no and went back home and changed it myself (with Salman’s help, I couldn’t get those knobby things off ‘cuz I wasn’t heavy enough). Anyway, I/we changed the tire and I put everything back into the car and the flat in place of the spare, making a mental note to get it changed as soon as possible. And, I forgot. I forgot! People forget all the time, don’t they? Anyway, as expected another tire went flat and the spare was already flat and they couldn’t find the jack handle which I swear I put back in the car and then everyone got upset with me and Ahmed had to wake up really early in the morning and so on. I said I’m sorry but it didn’t cut it at first, but as always eventually it became a thing of the past and I was the demon child no more. Until this evening.

Baba was a speaker at this fancy conference about something or another, and he was wearing his nicest suit (which I got him as a present for my first salary, the same first salary that I blew to smithereens in 24 hours flat), and then he noticed something was wrong with the suit and realised that all the buttons down the front were broken or missing. He was so embarassed! So in an attempt to at least make it look presentable he tried pulling off the fragments and accidentally ripped part of the material. It was terrible, and he couldn’t figure out what had happened. Then he remembered that the last time he had seen the suit in good shape was when he dropped it off at the dry cleaners’ some months ago. So he went to the dry cleaners and told them off, and they, of course, totally denied even knowing anything about the broken buttons. I sat there listening to that story with my eyes to the floor and chair and TV and ANYWHERE other than him, because if had taken one look at my face that second he would’ve known exactly whos fault it was =( I forgot. The thing was hanging on the store room door really near the hinges, and I remember closing the door and hearing this cracking sound and then things flying all over the place, and when I looked I realised the suit had been caught in the hinge and the buttons had broken. I immediately made a mental note (along with all those mental notes sitting in that stupid brain of mine) to get it fixed or at least tell Baba about it, and of course I forgot.
I was really sorry that he was embarrassed, and sorry that he told off the dry cleaning people and it wasn’t their fault, and I almost told him it wasn’t them, it was me, but I couldn’t! It hasn’t even been a week yet since the spare tire thing! I just couldn’t.
If I had a child like me I would ask them to leave my life forever.