Chores

When I was a kid, I didn't have a chore chart because I didn't do any chores. I either wasn't asked, or if I did do a chore, it led to screams and put-downs. There were no "thank-yous" or "I appreciate the help" or anything even close to kindness. It got to the point where it was easier, mentally, to retreat off to my room and hide with some art supplies or a book. Sure, mom would be screaming and complaining about something, she always did, but it was 'nicer' when the scream was just general and didn't include a "you're so lazy" or "ugh, of course, you did that wrong" or whatever other insult that wicked witch could hurl out. 

The only times I got attention from Azazel were to put me down or gaslight me, so why would I add in some manual labor and make home life worse for my kid self? 

One time, I have no idea or recollection of why, but I offered to vacuum. I was maybe eight or so, and I said I'd do the breezeway. One of my parents lugged out the giant two-part 90s style vacuum, and then I got to work. I did an okay job until the maroon behemoth ran over its cord and quickly ate away the wire. Somehow, I didn't get electrocuted and managed to shut off the vacuum and yank the cord from the outlet. 

Crying, I found my parents to tell them what had happened. There were no hugs, no "glad you're okay," just questions of "why did you run the cord over?" And "how did you not think that would ruin the vacuum?" yelled from Cruella.

A few days later, it was off to Spags to replace the vacuum I had destroyed, and boy did Mrs. Wormwood not let me forget that it was MY FAULT.

On the way home, I hoped this was the last of the whole miserable incident, but when we made a pit stop at my grandmother's house, she couldn't wait to confront me and laugh in my face about the goddamn vacuum. 

That was the first and last time I ever offered to do that chore, but one of the many times I prayed my mommy dearest's cruel mouth would shut. 

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