Ah cannae f*ckin’ believe whit happened yesterday... still trying tae make sense o’ it.
Awrite! Might as well tell this story. And, no, sadly am no exaggerating for laughs, this genuinely happened.
Guess ah start with this question:
Who tha f*ck starts an argument over and about a portion of fried f*ckin’ rice?! 
h:
Cuz that is exactly what happened yesterday evening, thanks to my older sister.
mg:
So, my older sister gets invited round for her tea. We’re having some takeaway fae the local Chinese restaurant. Our mother phones in the order and goes to collect it, but only when she gets back home with it does she realise that the extra portion of fried rice hus’nae been included.
Oh, and while she’s away, I come downstairs to get a drink, unaware that Mum’s away and that I’m not the only yin in the house. Ah keek ma heid roon the living room door to see my older sister, totally distracted and staring at her phone. So, ah bugger off back to kitchen afore she has chance to acknowledge me, since that usually consists of
”Hiya” — but spoken like yer typical moody teenager.
Anyway, upon Mum arriving back with the takeaway, ah hear her saying:
”Aww, they’ve no gave me that forth portion of fried rice”
“Eh?!”, my older sister shrieks
“Oh, ah need tae go back doon...”
“Why?”
“There’s only 3 portions of fried rice, ah asked for 4”
That’s when it kicks off, ah just heard my older sister going:
“Mum! Whit ur ye daein?! Mum?!”
“Am gan back doon fur...”
“So, yer no dishing up...”
“Fine”
Mum?! Mum?! Mum?! Whit ye daein? Why’re ye being like that fur?! Eh?!”
“Well...”
“What!?”
“If you’re gonnae be like that wi’ me...”
“Be like what, Mum?! Whit d’ye mean?!”
“Speaking tae me like that! If ye just let me do what...”
“Speaking tae ye like whit, Mum?!”
“Yer always like this wi’ me!”
“No am no, Mum!”
“Ya are!”
Aw, f*ck off Mum!”
Had it been me who incited this row, I’m almost certain that I’d be clutching at my rib trying to stop the blood from a stab wound after saying those 3 words. Cuz my mother is just short enough in height compared to me for that part of my body to vulnerable to such an attack.
But I digress. By the point of where my sister curses out our mother, I’m pissed off, swearing to myself, contemplating storming downstairs and have the follow-up confrontation to the yin my older sister and I had last summer. :kickingmyself:
Cuz the decent, normal response would be offering to go and collect it for Mum, wouldn’t it? A task clearly beyond my older sibling’s privileged status as the spoiled, middle child.
Too afraid to lift a finger in case she breaks a nail, her. But, before ah could bolt doon the stair and go off on yin, my grumpy-faced mother brings the chicken curry I’d asked for when she phoned in the order to my room.
She just rolls her head, shakes her head, and goes:
”Dinnae ask...”; leaving my room door slightly ajar as makes me her way back downstairs to the living. I just hear utter silence coming from the living room, but I can imagine my older sis and our mother were eating their meals in that passive aggressive that ya do, when you’ve had a massive row with someone ye love. Ah know I was raging ate my curry, for sure.
Then, after my older sister went back to her place, I come back downstairs just before my mother goes to phone her brother (my uncle), and casually asked:
”Did you n’ eh... Wus that an argument o’er a portion of rice that ah overheard early?”
“Aye! Why? Ah dinnae ken”
“Fried rice? D’ye realise how f*ckin’ daft that...”
“Ah know! F*ck know how it started though. Ah just... don’t know. Apparently ah always say the wrong thing!”
And we left it at that, both of us equally as confused by it. :alone:
