Electricity is a privilege, not a right

Ten years away from home made me forget a few of my parents' quirks regarding electricity and other privileges in this house. I had forgotten that in this house, we don't flush the toilet EVERY time (sorry Jenny, I know you hate my toilet talk). Apparently, flushing is a practice saved for "the deuce". Or if I'm in the living room and happen to wander upstairs for something, I may return to find that the television and/or lights have been shut off. It's the new 5-second rule: Leaving something "on" for any longer is just wasting power. And even if you think you're being frugal by turning an appliance off, what you really need to do is completely REMOVE the cord from the outlet. That's the ticket, folks. I knew I would find a get-rich-quick scheme somewhere if I moved back to London. Did anyone know how much electricity ironing uses? Ask my dad. From now on, I'm just going to lay my clothes underneath my mattress at night. Wake up and they're warm AND pressed.

But through all the adjustments, I had one thing that kept me sane--I could smoke in the basement. Maxine and I have many fond memories of lighting up in this house, and that alone made the move to London just a little bit easier. Until this morning:

MOTHER: I couldn't breathe last night with all that smoke.
ME: [frozen silence]
MOTHER: I think it's coming through the vents or something.
ME: [almost imperceptible nod]
MOTHER: I think I must be allergic to the duMaurier.
ME: [reluctantly] Well, I can smoke outside if you want.
MOTHER: Yeah okay, if you want.

Another parental quirk I forgot: It's not her idea, it's mine. Tricky mo'fo.

Chillin' by the (gasp!) portable heater,
sbg