Stop interrogating me! I need money. Why are you ruining my life?
Whoa. One thing at a time, teenager! Let's just stick to today's exercise in aerobic arguing.
The topic is fruit. The facts are these: The swim team needs food donations for Saturday's big meet. My assignment: 20 oranges. 20 bananas.
First, define "simple." Now multiply by the square root of impossible.
Because I did not get the teen-ager's approval before agreeing to undertake the purchase and delivery of any fruit, let alone oranges! Or bananas!
You cannot imagine his horror at discovering that he is expected to carry three bags of produce into school. OMG!
To sum up: He can not possibly do it. It will make him late for math club, despite the fact that he enjoys door to door chauffeur service at the time of his choosing. Also, why am I always doing stuff like this to him? It's soooo annoying. Didn't he specifically ask me not to?
"Not to what?" I say. "You said you didn't want me volunteering. You said nothing about fruit. What social jeopardy can possibly come of me buying oranges and bananas?"
He has no answer for this. Neither do I.
But I will think of something.