Wednesday, September 26th, 7:49pm. San Diego, CA.
For the past two days, Scot's mother has been spoiling us something awful, mostly gustatorily. She's cooking for us, buying us food, encouraging us to eat everything in her fridge, mostly comfort food like cookies and ice cream and cake and stuffing and mashed potatoes and etc. And as soon as we have finished what's on our plate, she takes it to the sink and cleans it. She has laid out towels for us, moved laundry from washer to dryer, and made our beds. She even tried to get us to take her bed, offering to sleep on the couch. All this in the face in our protests that we ought to be doing work for her. Those protests have grown quieter and more infrequent, as we realize that 1) she is not listening*, and 2) being spoiled rocks. I know that I should continue to offer to do my own dishes and get my own dessert, but what can I do? I am being given privilege, so I am taking it. I feel like one of the jailors from the Stanford Prison Experiment.
* Of course, she may not be hearing us - Scot says that without her hearing aids, she is deaf as jam.
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