“It’s my parents, Natalie. They’re always on my case.”


“Yeah. They’re always yelling at me to pick up my clothes or gripin’ about what time I come home. And if that wasn’t enough, they’re always coming down on me about my music.”

“You, too, eh? My parents are always hollerin’ at me whenever I play my favorites, like KORN or Creed on my stereo. It’s either ‘Turn that down!’ or ‘Don’t make me come in there and pull the plug!’ Sheesh. You’d think they were born old.”

“I hear you. And I can’t believe how suspicious my dad is. Just the other day I caught him going through my desk drawer.”

“Really? What do you think he was looking for?”

“I don’t know, but he wasn’t too happy about finding my Maxwell tickets. Heck, he went ballistic. Started yelling about how I can’t manage my money. That I’d never be a responsible adult if I kept throwing my money away on tickets for Galactic and Sheryl Crow. Said he didn’t know what he was going to do with me.”

“I’ve heard that more than a couple of times. That and the car. Always complaining that I never fill up the tank. You should have heard him the night I came home from seeing Nick Lowe. I thought he was going to explode.”

“That’s nothing. Last week, after I came home from that Sammy Hagar & David Lee Roth concert, my dad insisted on smelling my breath. Then he accused me of drinking beer. And I don’t even like beer.”

“What’s with that, anyway? Why are parents always suspicious? It’s getting so that I can’t go to any show, like The Wailers or Phil Lesh & Friends, without my dad demanding to know where the show is, who I’m going with and what time I’ll be home.”

“Then there’s always, ‘You’re not going out dressed like that, are you?’ You know, sometimes I just don’t know what to do.”

“Ain’t that the truth? I mean, it’s nice to know my parents care, and that they only want the best for me, but sometimes I wish they’d just stop harpin’ on me every time I want to see a band like Aerosmith or Butthole Surfers. Sometimes I wish that they’d just leave me alone. Sometimes I wish that… that… Oh, forget it.”

“Forget what?.”

“No, it’s not right. After all, they’re my parents. I love them, but they can be such a pain sometimes. I really shouldn’t think such thoughts.”

“Go ahead and tell me. Let it out. You’ll feel better. Honest.”

“Well, alright. It’s just that sometimes…”


“Sometimes I wish I’d never let my husband talk me into letting them move in with us.”