The Abuse I Get At Home (Because I Live With My Folks)

So, I come home from a long day. Work 9 hours, drive 1 hour. Repeat...Anyway, I didn't feel much like cooking and had stopped by the local McDonalds for a 10 piece and a cheeseburger (side note, I always order the burger special, i.e. no onions. I feel this means they have to make the thing from scratch and thus will be more fresh. I spend entirely too much time thinking about fast food.) I walk in the door and my father is sitting in his chair, TV on loud as hell. In his lap is a serving bowl full of the following: Spaghetti with meatballs, steak, green beans, and string cheese. He has topped it all off with crubled up crackers and some ketchup. His words, "oh look at you, Mr Fastfood. What kind of crap do ya got in the bag there?"

I have no idea how I feel about being chastised by him, with his bowl of slop, napkin tucked into his shirt collar.

After my meal, which was eaten in sullen shame, I needed to make a run to the gas station for some heaters. On my way out the door, all I hear is "get me an ice cream treat while you're out!"