I dedicate this to my BFF, who actually did this.
o.O I worry about my friends sometimes…
I would like to start off by saying that I, Charlotte Winters, 14 year old daughter of Aphrodite, am not usually cruel or unsociable, but my mother tends to bring out the worst in me.
You see, it all started when Mummy dearest decided to take her children out for individual bonding time. And, well, that day, was my day. But I had a fantastic plan to get out of the day's shopping…
"Come on Charlotte, let's go somewhere nice, like Olive Garden!"
"I say McDonalds."
"But darling…"
"No Mum, I want McDonalds!"
"Okay, whatever my baby girl wants." suckah…Step one of the plan initiated, time for step two…
"I demand to see Ronald!" I screamed at the spotty youth behind the counter at McDonalds.
"For the last time Miss, he doesn't work here." He said, trying to remain calm and keep his eyes off my mother's chest.
"The adverts on TV expressly show that Ronald McDonald the clown works here. Now send in the clown, bey-atch."
"Baby girl, maybe we should just go." said my mother, resting her hand on my shoulder. By this time the rest of the customers were starting to leave
"NOT UNTIL I SEE RONALD MCDONALD! NOW SEND IN THE CLOWN, OR I SWEAR I WILL ASSAULT YOU." I screamed.
"Bodily assault is against the law ma'am."
"So is false advertising. Send in the clown."
The boy sighed deeply, and then said grudgingly, "I'll see what I can do."
About fifteen minutes later, the same boy walked in, this time wearing a yellow boiler suit, a red suit and white make-up. He said monotonously, "Hello, welcome to McDonalds, may I take your order."
"I'll have a Big Mac, with French fries, soda and a frosty. My mother will have a water and one French fry." then, leaning forward and whispering conspiratorially I said "shh, she's on a diet."
Several minutes later my mother and I were eating our delicious, greasy meal. Or, to be more specific, Aphrodite was sipping her water and glaring at me while I ate my huge Big Mac, grease and ketchup dripping onto my black, Linkin Park T-shirt.
"So, Charlotte," the love goddess said, her smile and voice strained "where do you want to go next? We're going clothes shopping, but you can pick the shop."
"How about Target?" I replied.
"Target?" my mother said. She sounded like she regretted ever claiming me.
"It's pronounced, Tar-jay." I said through a mouthful of frosty.
"As you wish dearest."
Next chapter tomorrow. For all the people reading 'Iron and ire', I will update on Saturday.