Picture this. Noelia sits in her room, reads fanfics in peace and listens to her dearest iPod when suddenly there is a bloodcurling scream, evil laugh and 'Serves you right, Mothefucker!' coming from the other room.
You see. My Mom watches Football. (Soccer, for those of you who happen to be Americans, which means most of you and I should have just say soccer at the beginning but I will call it football, damn it.)
It continues. I had no idea my Mom knew such words. Really. She goes from a totally normal 'Holy Mother of God!' to words I use only when I write really naughty, filthy, sick porn. Which means in every second fic, but that's beyond the point, because I write them in English and That's Okay Because It's Called Language Freedom (my prof told us that when speaking foreign language we are more likely to swear or/and voice controverial opinions. But whatever).
Things she wants Our Players to do to the Other Players are... well... technically impossible, methinks. And I should know, because I do read fanfics and everything I've learned about life comes from there. And texts on buttons I buy to attach to my bag.
She begins to scare me.
And next time she tells me I'm insane because I yell at the small people on screen to finally get the fuck over it and fuck each other (especially when it's like, Jack and Daniel, or other two guys...) I'll... well, shut up, obviously. Because she's freakin' scary, that is.
Yet, hope remains.
We are related. I will be freaking out my own kids someday.
If I ever decide to have kids, which is unlikely, because that 'educational movie' entitled 'the Miracle of Life coughbullshitcough' they shown us in high school scared me for life and traumatised to the bone and I'll never, ever, have kids.
It took me like, two years, to stop being freaked out by sex after that.
Yeah. That would be all.