Monday mornings in general in my house are an absolute mayhem. Here is what happened yesterday morning and this was one of the calmer ones :
My father wandered around the house demanding to know who in the whole wide world had hidden his spectacles and what sort of a joke this was. Paper in one hand, and a cup of tea in another, he drifted first into this room and then into that, all the while muttering under his breath.( PS: They were perched on his head.) My brother, on the other hand, rampaged all over the house-the miniature hippo that he was-looking for the notebook that had suddenly, and according to him, grown legs and walked off on its accord. And me? I'd just woken up-late,as usual- to the trying-to-break-the-door-down-to-bits performance performed so obligingly by my mother everyday. After a quick yelling competition from either side of the door about unruly habits of waking up late, I dragged my self to the bathroom. Five minutes of trying-to-look-civilized later, I clambered downstairs, bumping into my father and spilling his cup of tea all over my shirt. I was the one with hot tea all over my dress, he was the one who was walking backwards, and who got scolded? Me. Life story of every hyper-active teenager. After a quick shouting match yet again, I stomped back up the stairs having accepted defeat, yet again. There I encountered my brother, trying to interrogate me if I'd stolen his notebook. Me! The squirt probably just hadn't done his homework and was trying to get away by pinning the blame on me. I shoved him aside, and made my way to my room to change out of my tea stained clothes. Meanwhile, my father blew up the roof honking, waiting for me to come down. Whose fault was it that I had tea over me? His. Whose demand was it that I must not wear tea stained clothes to school? His. Who got honked at? Me Anyways, five minutes later, I flew into the car and sighed as my father started the engine. Monday again.