Well, y'know. Teenagers, mood swings. One minute the daddy's girl is trying to give her father road-head, the next minute she's ready to choke him to death with his own belt. She'll probably level out eventually. He did, after all, even if he still has that build-up of rage and bile that needs to be released every once in a while. And in light of that, how could he possibly take it personally?
Now, if it happens again, he's probably going to be a little annoyed. But that's what fatherhood is about. Patience, and gently guiding one's rage-prone daughter through her homicidal urges. At least, when they're directed toward him.
Still, like a mildly retarded child with nerve damage, Richard can't help but put his hand repeatedly upon any hot stove he stumbles across. Susan is just such a stove, and if Salome took after her, he'd probably put his hand on her just the same. Granted, he's not exactly one to let his daughter push him around, so there would probably be a great deal of far uglier conflict in their lives, and Susan would be much fonder of her than she is now.
It's far better this way. He loves her sweet with the occasional hint of rabid fury. Even if the amount of energy she possesses is going to kill him just by proximity, like a star pulling in any comet that hurtles too close. Richard barely manages to lift his hand from his eyes when she bursts into the booth, peeking between his fingers to chuckle.
"Don't eat too much, baby, I don't need you getting carsick." Or failing to leave room for over-priced cake. Flipping page by page through the menu, he drapes his forearms upon the edge of the table and heaves a sigh. "Jesus, wake me up when we're in Virginia, you can drive the rest of the way. You've knocked me out, sweetheart."
Cradling his forehead in his hand, Richard shuts the menu and sets it aside to sit up and wait for the return of his co-conspirator, who flashes them both an extremely wide, knowing smile while she gives them their drinks and takes their orders. Luckily, it's the sort of grin easily mistaken for country hospitality.
no subject
Now, if it happens again, he's probably going to be a little annoyed. But that's what fatherhood is about. Patience, and gently guiding one's rage-prone daughter through her homicidal urges. At least, when they're directed toward him.
Still, like a mildly retarded child with nerve damage, Richard can't help but put his hand repeatedly upon any hot stove he stumbles across. Susan is just such a stove, and if Salome took after her, he'd probably put his hand on her just the same. Granted, he's not exactly one to let his daughter push him around, so there would probably be a great deal of far uglier conflict in their lives, and Susan would be much fonder of her than she is now.
It's far better this way. He loves her sweet with the occasional hint of rabid fury. Even if the amount of energy she possesses is going to kill him just by proximity, like a star pulling in any comet that hurtles too close. Richard barely manages to lift his hand from his eyes when she bursts into the booth, peeking between his fingers to chuckle.
"Don't eat too much, baby, I don't need you getting carsick." Or failing to leave room for over-priced cake. Flipping page by page through the menu, he drapes his forearms upon the edge of the table and heaves a sigh. "Jesus, wake me up when we're in Virginia, you can drive the rest of the way. You've knocked me out, sweetheart."
Cradling his forehead in his hand, Richard shuts the menu and sets it aside to sit up and wait for the return of his co-conspirator, who flashes them both an extremely wide, knowing smile while she gives them their drinks and takes their orders. Luckily, it's the sort of grin easily mistaken for country hospitality.