I had an argument with my mother this morning. I spilled my juice, being clumsy, getting up to fiddle with something random when I should have been sitting still at the table eating my breakfast. I tried to clean it up, mopping ineffectually at the puddle with a sheet of kitchen roll, carrying it – dripping sticky sploshes – over to the bin. But she noticed, and that was that.
She didn’t yell – although she sometimes does – but she reminded me that this was the third time in as many weeks, that I should concentrate on what I’m doing rather than playing, and that maybe I should try to be a little less ‘helpful.’ She has done 6 loads of washing already this week, and didn’t really need an extra chair cover to clean. I screeched a sorry and tried to think up something facetious to say.