I want to take a moment to express my love for you, but I need to address an issue that’s been simmering for far too long. Yes, I’m looking directly at you, Dad and Teen. This endless interference with my belongings has reached its breaking point.
I’ve been far too passive about the ongoing invasion of my stuff without establishing clear boundaries. In hindsight, I did attempt to set some limits, but they were ignored. It shouldn’t need to be emphasized that my belongings hold just as much value as anyone else’s. Honestly, my possessions are few and far between. When we transitioned from Atlanta to Philadelphia, I realized just how little was actually mine—four boxes of books and two seasons of clothes. And don’t even think about claiming that any “household items” belong to me; that’s a sexist assertion I won’t tolerate here.
Past Experiences
Do you remember that time I bought a brand new car and the handlebars of a bicycle scratched both doors? Or when I lent my car out and it returned with a cracked windshield? And then there were the artistic endeavors from small hands that left marks inside like a caveman’s drawings.
The fact that I still love you both is a testament to my patience. I’ve seen my luxurious body wash vanish down the drain, the Talenti gelato mysteriously disappear because I apparently “took too long,” my iPad commandeered, my headphones pilfered, and even my nail polish ruined. And let’s not forget the last Diet Coke vanished overnight.
Netflix Woes
My Netflix profile has been cluttered with shows I have no interest in, and my name has been unceremoniously changed to “Betty Big Boobs.” As someone who takes pride in their taste, I can’t bear the thought that Netflix might think I watch anime by choice. You both know how much I dislike the name Betty—Liz or Mom is all I will answer to. This isn’t a laughing matter, as Netflix is always judging, and you are ruining my future recommendations.
Nutella: A Serious Matter
I’ve tolerated this one-sided sharing for far too long, but there’s one thing that will no longer be tolerated: my Nutella. It belongs solely to me.
Nutella is my personal joy encapsulated in a jar of hazelnut goodness, and no one is allowed to touch it—no waffles, no toast, no finger dipping—just pretend it doesn’t exist. I refuse to hide it away or eat it in secret. Everyone else’s items are openly available, and I expect the same respect in return.
Should I happen to forget to replace my Nutella, beware: if you touch the Tostitos queso, you will face dire consequences. This is a serious warning.
Thank you both for your understanding. I love you (but not enough to share my Nutella).
You’ve been forewarned,
Big Boobs
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In summary, I love my family deeply, but the boundary regarding my belongings—especially my Nutella—needs to be respected.