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Wednesday, 15 April 2009
I don't remember exactly what started the fight. Most likely I was reading late at night, and resisting instructions to turn off the light and go to sleep. And I suspect that my mum, after much negotiation, eventually put her foot down and said that I had to go to sleep now or I'd never get up for school.
I threw my pillow down the stairs at her and, unable to think of anything worse to say, shouted at her that she was "a wicked woman!"
(My insults were pretty much out of fairytales at that stage. I can't remember exactly how old I was... young enough to throw things in a tantrum, but old enough that I might reasonably have been expected to know worse expressions. Still, it was the best - or worst - I could think of under pressure.)
She kept my pillow.
I'm sure I screamed, and sobbed, and pleaded to get it back. Being a fairly bright kid, I probably said that I wouldn't be able to sleep without it, since sleeping was what she wanted me to do.
She kept it.
I cried a lot.
And I learnt to never, ever mess with my mum.