The Photo Frame.

Ok so we're 3 months into this whole Teenage terror stuff and I'm already wishing for a time machine. I remember what it was like when I was 13, mainly because it wasn't that long ago (8 years to be exact), and of course I had my melodramatic moments where I threw a few beloved stuffed animals around and cursed the names of the parents that dared to parent me from time to time but neither I, nor the loved ones around me recall a tantrum thrower anywhere near as dramatic as the one we are currently forced to deal with.

I'll just cut to the chase, a photo frame has been broken, a memory shredded, a finger (mine of course), now has glass in it. Basically my dearest sister went on a rampage the result being the death of a very expensive photo frame (and a precious moment frozen in time blah blah blah) but if it wasn't at all obvious, what I was most upset about was the frame itself (call me materialistic if you will).

When I think about the events of that day, I'd like to say I never saw it coming but I'd be attempting to lie to both myself and to you dear reader. For you see, there was something in the air that fateful day, something that told me hearts would be broken and glass would be shattered. And that something was the mood of the house, allow me to explain. You might have one (or if you're really unlucky, several) persons in your house who can set the tone or the mood of the entire household, no? (Lucky sod). In our household that position lies with our beloved matriarch, and also lies with my sister too and put the two together and you have yourself a car wreck with a total of two drivers, 5 passengers and 3 victims. This was the very case that day, an argument had begun in the kitchen over the exact details in the contract regarding a one 13 year old sociopath's grounding. I'm not entirely sure why my parents bother to defend their reasoning as to why actions have consequences since they are facing off against a 13 year old (and as a recently liberated ex-teen I can say that we rarely listen to reason) but defend her case she did. Unlucky for my mother, my sister is the most persistent of whiners and will follow her victim all around the house until they throw themselves at her mercy, hands over ears as a further sign of submission.

Gradually the arguing got louder and my sister, finally realising it was hopeless to fight, turned her attention to our parent's room. To cut an unnecessarily long story short. I heard yelling, thumping and the eventual shattering of glass. When I came upon the scene the culprit had fled and I was more than a little dismayed to find the debenhams' christmas present I had given our mother in pieces on the ground.

Sometimes her crimes are victimless, this was not one of those times. But I think we all learned a valuable lesson that day, don't piss off a 13 year lunatic when there are breakable objects anywhere near by because she will break them, her conscience as clear as her pre-pubescent face.