“Me: “I refuse to attend Support Group.”Mom: “One of the symptoms of depression is disinterest in activities.”Me: “Please just let me watch America’s Next Top Model. It’s an activity.”Mom: “Television is a passivity.”Me: “Ugh, Mom, please.”Mom: “Hazel, you’re a teenager. You’re not a little kid anymore. You need to make friends, get out of the house, and live your life.”Me: “If you want me to be a teenager, don’t send me to Support Group. Buy me a fake ID so I can go to clubs, drink vodka, and take pot.”Mom: “You don’t take pot, for starters.”Me: “See, that’s the kind of thing I’d know if you got me a fake ID.”Mom: “You’re going to Support Group.”Me: “UGGGGGGGGGGGGG.”Mom: “Hazel, you deserve a life.”
“Me: "If you want me to be a teenager, don't send me to Support Group. Buy me a fake ID so I can go to clubs, drink vodka, and take pot."Mom: "You don't take pot, for starters."Me: "See, that's the kind of thing I'd know if you got me a fake ID.”
“Mom. Mom, I... All I ever wanted was for you to smile at me. If you praised me just a little bit or touched my cheek...you'd make me so happy, I would cry.”
“Okay," I began. "You’re too old for me. You’re scary. It’s creepy that you were so all over my mom and now you’re all over me.”
“I can’t believe you’re old enough to have your purpose,” Mom says with a sigh. “Makes me feel old.”“You are old.”
“Claire: Seriously? My mom? Let you in my room? In the middle of the night?Michael: Moms like me.”