080. Why?
This totally sucks! Why do I always get into trouble? Marty gave his pillow a hard punch...it didn't make him feel much better.
It was just his luck that his mother would catch him, you could never sneak anything by her. He should have listened to Dave.
He didn't even know what the big problem was, it wasn't like heaps of guys didn't just walk into corner stores and buy those magazines every single day.
Of course he hadn't bought it, but he hadn't stolen it either! Not that was what his mother was angry about anyway.
Who care why she's angry, she's always angry, it's like her hobby, Marty thought giving his pillow another punch.
At that moment there was a very timid knock on the door and Marty stifled a groan, he knew exactly who it was.
He considered not answering, it'd probably work...
But the knock came again, along with a voice that was barely above a whisper. "Uh...son...?"
Marty buried his face into his pillow and screamed, before lifting his head and giving in. "Yeah, come in."
Dad slunk into the room, his shoulders drooped as ever, looking at his feet as he nervously fiddled with his tie.
"Um...are you...uh...?"
"I'm fine, Dad," Marty answered, bluntly. He had to wonder about his parents' sometimes, actually make that all the time. They were complete opposites, whereas Mom yelled at the drop of the hat, Dad could barely speak above a whisper no matter what.
"Er...sorry about your mother's yelling...you know she's only doing it because she cares."
Marty rolled his eyes. "Cares about making me miserable."
"That's not true," Dad said weakly, "she's just...uh...worried about you. Why...er...why were you looking at that magazine anyway?"
Marty winced, Dad was such a nerd! To any male of the human species it'd be more than obvious why. How the Hell are we even related?
"You're...you're not even in High School yet," Dad remarked as if Marty didn't know.
"What's that got to do with it?" He glared at his father.
True to form, Dad looked away, he couldn't even confront his own son! Sometimes this was pretty useful, but most of the time it was plain embarrassing.
"Well, son...it’s...just...um...how much...uh...how much do you know about...about...er..."
It took Marty a minute to figure out what Dad was getting at.
Oh my God...
He put up his hands. "I know about it, Dad, really."
"Because...well...if...um...you were looking at the magazine because...uh...you were...uh...curious.”
Oh jeeze, kill me...kill me right now.
"I'm not curious," he managed to splutter.
"Because...um...you should know it's not...they're not realistic."
Marty wanted to bury his head under his pillow, but was too horrified even for that. Why the Hell would Dad know about it anyway? He asked himself and immediately wished he hadn’t. There was an image he'd never be able to erase.
"And...um...unrealistic expectations are...well...they can...it's not healthy."
"Dad," Marty held up his hands. "I have no expectations, please stop talking!"
"Well...your mother asked me to..."
Well, no wonder he’s still talking to me, Marty shook his head, usually in the face of any sort of resistance his father would just give up, unless, of course his wife told him to do something. It was pathetic.
"Yeah, well, I don't need to hear about this crap, Dad, seriously."
"O-OK, are you...uh...sure?" Dad looked like he was going to strangle himself his was tugging at his tie so hard, Marty wouldn’t have minded doing him the favour. "Because...your mother was quite...uh...specific -"
"Dad!"
His father had got to his feet and was backing away. "You're sure then...?"
"Yes, God, get out."
To his immense relief his father scurried out the door.
Finally Marty was able to take refuge under this pillow, vowing to never look or even think about looking at a Playboy again.
Well done, Ma, he thought, grudgingly.
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