“She doesn’t care about the suffering of Earth’s people,” your husband says.
“Teenagers,” you say with a shake of your head.
“When I bring up earthquakes and tsunamis in chit chat she says it’s all part of her plan,” he says.
“Why do you always talk about that stuff?” ask him.
“She won’t let anyone see her face,” he says. “We’re not prepared, according to her. So she just keeps wearing that Scream mask.”
“She’s a movie buff,” tell him.
“If she’s God we need to change our parenting strategy!” he shouts.
“So what? Put her back in public school?”
“To expose her to all that she’s wrought, yeah, maybe!”
Now you’re full on fighting. That’s when your daughter walks in. Through the air holes of her Scream mask she says, “Talking about how I’m God and it’s hard to be a parent to the all-seeing all-knowing Deity?”
“Yeah,” your husband says.
“Stand up straight,” you tell her.
“Can you keep it down?” she asks. “I’ve grown bored with this world and am busy creating another one. No humans this time. Just insects. They’re the only living things I fucking nailed. Everything else turned to shit.”
“We’re having chicken and Brussels sprouts for dinner tonight,” you tell her.
“Too busy to eat,” she says.
“You’ll take a break and you’ll eat your dinner,” you tell her.
Your daughter stomps away. Your husband falls to his knees in fealty while you finish moisturizing your pregnant belly. Maybe the next kid will be a little less of a bossy pants.
Happy Your Daughter Might Be God Day!
