Her majesty the Queen didn’t come home last night. Sarge, the boys and I left about seven to see some friends and Shrek but the Queen stayed behind. A few minutes after we left, I received a text message from her saying she was going out. We’d previously discussed that she should be home at midnight. We’d been battling about this a bit lately. It was, you know, the classic battle between parent and newly-turned-18 year-old child.

Parent: “Please be home at midnight, okay?”
18yo: “But why? I’m 18 and I have a curfew?”
Parent: “Yes. Not because I don’t trust you, but because I worry. It’s not you. It’s everyone else. Just be home at midnight.”
18yo: ~eyeroll~

Parent: “I realize you don’t understand this, but someday you will. See, first you’re a parasite for 9 months and then I worry about you constantly until I’m dead, okay?”
18yo: “Nice Mom. Okay.”

And now it is 11:15 a.m. and I haven’t seen her since 6:45p.m. last night.

Worried? Oh Yeah. She’s always been the responsible one. A little rebellious lately – staying out until 4:00, but nothing serious. That is what I get for not being clear. Yesterday I was clear. Now, I’m scared.

Should I be?