All you need to know about my senior year of high school is that I bought studs on the internet so I could put them on my clothes myself. In light of that, it’s not hard to imagine that I wasn’t on the best terms with my parents. They had a lot of rules and I had a pretty strong aversion to the rules and the tension was plentiful.
If you’ve ever interacted with my parents in any capacity you know that their chief quality is probably not taking crap from anybody, especially not their seventeen year old daughter. My rebellion was mostly colored by passive aggression. I kid you not, when they weren’t home I would turn on all the lights in the house and leave the refrigerator door open and somehow that was a release of anger for me.
Now I drove this beautiful minivan. I called her Sweet Freedom and I ran into all sorts of things and I loved her relentlessly. She wasn’t technically mine which was a sore subject all on it’s own, and she got taken away from me all the time. My personal weakness was getting up in the morning for school, it just wasn’t a thing I did. I was cool with being late. That was not a thing that everyone was cool with. So, not for the first time and not for the last time, I got the van taken away.
This was the final straw for young Victoria. I had had it. Months of leaving the refrigerator open had manifested into the ultimate act of anger. I marched downstairs under the cover of darkness into the kitchen and licked every spoon and put them back in the drawer.
I celebrated my victory as if I had actually won something other than a bus ride to school the next day. And I think the moral of the story is if you’re in the presence of an angry teenager do yourself a favor and rinse your spoon.