Lin Guagua and Her Fun Dad (Mom, You're So Annoying - Volume 3)

Author: Zhao Jing
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2006-06-24
Features: The class was swept by a "foot massage" craze---Don't think kids know nothing. "Take off your shoes quickly, I guarantee you'll scream from pleasure." Dad stood on the side, urging me to take off my shoes with all his might. I twisted my own ten toes in my shoes and said, "I'm not falling for your trick. I finally took you to the park, and now you want to play some crazy trick." Dad sighed and said, "It's all my fault for letting you get tricked too often. Now, the side effects are coming out." I thought, "What's with the act of being upset! This time, I won't fall for it." Seeing me put on a defensive pose, Dad extended one finger of his right hand, shook it, and emphasized, "At least, you have to believe me this last time." I couldn't keep track of how many "last times" there were. What I hated most about him was the time he drew cat whiskers on me—this was definitely a classic joke for my classmates throughout elementary school.
Two years ago, when I was in second grade, Mom kept nagging about how I didn't wash my face properly. But all the kids in my class did it the same way, and it wasn't a big deal—neither was doing homework carelessly. Besides, mornings were so precious that I couldn't spend all of it washing my face. With my cleanliness-obsessed and nagging mom, she always had to point fingers at me, saying I washed my face worse than a cat. By the way, the popular (at least in our class) way of washing was: after waking up, stumbling into the bathroom, turning on the faucet, sticking out my right index and middle fingers to scoop some water, then rubbing around the outside of both eyes three times forward and three times backward. Then, changing the water and repeating the action. Mom saw her nagging wasn't working, so she had Dad step in to solve the problem once and for all. Unsurprisingly, the usually lazy Dad agreed, probably because he couldn't take Mom's nagging anymore. That's how the farce began—a farce that would be unforgettable for me, my elementary school teachers, and my classmates.
That night, Dad took advantage of Mom's business trip and, while I was asleep, drew three curled black lines on both sides of my mouth—just like cat whiskers. The next day, I went to school without washing my mouth but only my eye circles. When my classmates were laughing hysterically, I finally realized why my ( refers to the number of people who turn back to look at you) was so high on the way to school. I'm sure you would have cried hysterically, just like me.
After that, I, who had no quirks before, developed a "mirror-checking habit." That is, whether I needed to or not, I would always pull out a small mirror and examine my face, afraid that three long whiskers would suddenly appear on both sides of my mouth. P1-2