The B-word

The other day we asked The Tyrant and The Show to clean their room. Our request was quickly followed by alot of whining, deep exaggerated sighs and stomping feet. Their room is much like any other kid’s; toys and clothes can be found all over the floors, desks, beds, chairs, etc. But their closet has to be the worst. They share a huge walk-in closet that is so messy you must open the door with extreme caution.

Asking them to clean their room and closet is usually a bi-monthly event that always ends up with one of the two of them in tears. It is almost always The Tyrant who tries very hard to just sit around because she “doesn’t know what to do.” So, The Show will usually yell at her until she starts helping.

This time was really no different from the last time. The Tyrant came running up to us, in tears. Gasping she yelled, “She.. (gasp) called.. (gasp) ME.. (gasp) the.. (gasp) b-word!” My first reaction was one of shock. Which word was she talking about? So, I asked her, “Did she call you a brat?” (Brat and stupid are considered swear words in our house.) The Tyrant glares and cries, “NO!! The other B-WORD!”

The Show has now made it down the hallway and to us. She is blinking at her sister and looking offended. Bear and I are tensed up because we are thinking it’s that B-word. The Show looks at us and rolls her eyes, “I told her to stop being a butthead and throwing things at me.” The Tyrant stand ups “SEE!! SEE!! SHE DID IT AGAIN!!”

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