Approximately 4 months ago (and multiple time before/after then)...
Mother (while making something in a pot): "Wallis you have to start looking at how I cook, from now on..."
Me (while surfing the interwebs at dining table): "...mm?? (It took a second for me to understand what she was saying)...WAIT, WHAT? Whyyyyyy?"
Mother: "Because! You need to know how to do these things!"
Me: "FOR WHAT PURPOSE, WOMAN?!"
Mother (stops stirring, and glares balefully at my face): "...Wallis. What if I die? What the hell are you going to cook? You can't live off of friend eggs and toaster strudels..."
Me: "WHAT THE HELL?! WHAT IF YOU DIE? WHAT ABOUT THE EMOTIONAL REPERCUSSIONS? WHAT ABOUT WHAT THE HELL I'M GOING TO DO ABOUT MY LIFE SANS MOTHER?!!"
Mother (resumes stirring): "It's very nice to hear you say that. Nevertheless, you're watching me cook from now on."
Thus, I was forced every now and then to watch her cook. And by the way, I could totally live off of fried eggs and toaster strudels, she has no idea what she's talking about.
It got to a point, where anger/boredom translated into an insatiable hunger for doing anything other than learning how to make food. *Sidenote* I can cook. I can cook, for reals. It just happen to be that I did not want to learn anymore about cooking that day. Tis all *Endnote* So I opened my kitchen cupboard...and voila:
"Hello marshmallow..." the killer said, staring at its target...like a KILLER. ._.
But it was far too late for that marshmallow...and its fellow marshmallows in the bag. Wallish ate them ALL!
I feel really bad right now, I feel like a murderer. A murdering murderer...how could I?! I'm a monster...
Anyways, I'll save that remorse for later. As I ate the marshmallows I felt very content and my mother began to notice this.
Mother: "Wallis. I hope you're not eating. Dinner's going to be ready in a few minutes"
My mother knew I was lying of course but said nothing. I felt a little guilty, because I should have known better, however...only a little guilty. However, I assured myself that I could totally eat dinner, and have room afterwards for even MOAR marshmallows, cuz they're so effing brilliant.
THIS WAS A WRONG THING TO ASSUME! I suddenly felt like...like...the marshmallows had decided to seek revenge against me, and their evil commander ordered them all to inflate to a ridiculous size inside my tummy and fill it with an unnecessary feeling of fullness.
Those marshmallows inflated themselves to the point, where they looked constipated, and I was worried. So I decided to state my queries to the person who I thought might understand, my mother.
Me: Mum....
Mother: What?
Me: Do marshmallows inflate in your tummy?
Mother:....................................*sigh*
Me: NO! SERIOUSLY! DO THEY? MUM! MUM! MUM! MUM! MUM! I'M GOING TO DIE, AND YOU DON'T CAREEEEE??!!
Mother (stops cutting up whatever on the cutting board, stabs knife into cutting board (poor cutting board) and glares at me): WALLIS.
Me: *WHIMPER*
Mother: Do I LOOK like I went to Marshmallow U? Huh? What the heck is that kinda question? Do marshmallows....pahhh! (She notices that I'm still looking down at my tummy) WALLIS. WHAT IS IN YOUR STOMACH?
Me: Inflating marshmallows?
Mother: ACID, WALLIS. ACID. They are dissolved up in there and gone.
Me: LIKE DEAD?
Mother: (At this point she made a very odd noise, between a sigh and an exasperated yell, which could only be translated as: WHY THIS CHILD? WHY? WHYYYYY?)
So in the end, I was left with a very aggravated mother, not enough room to eat dinner (although I only ate like 6 marshmallows...or 26..whatever), a feeling that I should be locked up or something for murdering marshmallows, and no knowledge of how to make whatever she put in front of me for dinner that night.
I think the marshmallows were successful in getting their revenge, the bastards.
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