Dadzilla Threatens to Strike

China Bitch...and Bitch and Bitch

One day, Dadzilla suggests we go out to get Chinese for dinner. We both like Chinese, but I'm apprehensive about going anywhere with him, whether he's driving or a passenger. Who needs the aggravation of a screaming old man at the slightest provocation? Yearning for something different for dinner, I acquiesce, and off we go the couple miles to get Chinese at a chain place.

I avoid as much as possible making left turns with no light in the middle of the day anyway, now I'm extra careful. One false move and there could be an explosion. Driving on egg shells doesn't matter; there's ALWAYS something to complain and yell about. I think back on the rare occasions my mother was in the same vehicle as him, and why they were so infrequent. I repent for being a stupid kid, encouraging her to get in the same vehicle as he was. I guess all kids want their parents together, even as they argue bitterly and they lack any wisdom to see it's much better off that they separate. I wonder what kind of insecure, micromanager I would have become had Dadzilla actually lived in the same house as me past the age of 6.

Uh oh. It's one of those yellow lights you have to brake kind of suddenly for, as there isn't enough time to make it through before it turns red. Three “what the hells”, a “goddamnit”, and a sexist epithet later, and we're back on our way. Is all this worth it for Chinese? He's not shutting up.

Finally, we pull in, place our order, get our order and get out. The second we pull out and get stopped at a light, he continues his spiel about how the lights in Arizona are rigged to the detriment of the drivers. “Wah wah, wah wah wah wah, wah,” on and on and, apparently, on. We get home and he gives me an order. I don't even remember what it was, but I guess it didn't sit right that particular day, already hearing him rambling on almost the entire time driving.

I declare, almost yelling, “Stop giving me orders! You do it all the time!” Dadzilla's eyes widen, as he erupts. “I wasn't telling you what to do, goddamnit!” and “I oughta hit you a good one!” Violence is always the answer, but I won't tolerate it as an adult. “I wish you would hit me, then the judge can ORDER you to go to anger management. You've needed it for YEARS.” I've disputed the authority of Dadzilla. This will not do. He accuses me of being selfish. I don't understand the connection between wanting him to go to anger management and being selfish, but I've already had enough.

I gather up my Chinese food and head to my room. I have to come back out to the kitchen to get a drink. I'm not the only one who forgot my drink. Dadzilla is again cursing because he left his drink somewhere in the restaurant. “Ta hell with it! I'll just go on without it.” Being the selfish person I am, I drive back down to the restaurant alone and bring back his drink. I place it on the table next to his food. He has nothing to say.

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