I've probably complained about my daddy issues before, but tonight's takes the cake.
I was working on a mini version of my rock n roll cross-stitch. Brin had seen it and wanted her own copy of Kurt Cobain, so I was making his image on a mini square all night. I finished around 8:40, and was knee-deep in an episode of the A-Team. (I'd seen it before, but S01E13 is a real nail-biter) I figured I'd stay quiet for a while and just try to finish the episode. At 9:10 exactly, Dad yells down that it's bedtime in the same voice that he used when he had to call me twenty billion times when I was little. I get upstairs and tells me it's my final warning that 8:30 is my bedtime. That it is completely unacceptable that I stay up to 9:15 every school night.
Seriously, Dad needs to get off his high horse. He has less than 4 years before I make my own bedtime. I have at least 10 kids in my class who eat supper around 8. A few days ago, on a walk with Angus, he said he had to be home before 7, so he could eat supper. I chuckled a little and said I had to be home for 7 to go to bed. (7 actually is the official bedtime for my entire family, but I put up enough of a fuss that they let me stay up for another hour and a half, because even they have to agree that a 6 year difference in age merits a later bedtime)
I don't want to sound like a spoiled brat, but seriously, this is ludicrous.
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