There has been conspirators afoot... and they live inside our disco Aztec.
Firstly, I must explain that our family has a strange taste in transportation. There is "The Gold Digger", our 2003 gold Aztec with a curvaceous behind and an expensive taste in car parts it needs to function. We use this one most often for show, as it is easily recognizable as "The Van with the Big Butt". Our second vehicle is a run down Chevrolet from the dinosaur age (A.K.A. The eighties) that roars when it stars and especially when it dies. We've aptly named it "The Beast".
Both our modes of transport are fairly emotional, but as if to ease the trip, my parents stock the little cubbies in the front with gum. There in lies the problem.
When our family boards our vehicle in the morning, my younger brother takes one piece of gum, my father takes one, and on rare occasion I'll have some too. My mother is in the other car so she takes some from the gum package in there. Seems pretty innocent doesn't it? No sign of conflict... yet.
By the time my baby hipster brother is dropped off at middle school, the gum has magically disappeared! A strange occurrence since the gum we have comes in packs of twelve and there were only three of us sitting in The Beast. I choose to ignore it however and go off to school because I have exams soon and have more important things to think about.
The next morning when we get back into The Beast, the mystery of the missing chewing gum becomes top priority. Not that my relatives are gum addicts or anything like that, we just have a strong sense of fairness and equality. Therefore there is a battle when taking off with the only gum in the truck. I demand justice to be delivered with an iron fist in these circumstances. My brother however, employs his awkward preteen voice that my father identifies with and perhaps feels a bit of pity for because I'm usually denied the right to a fair trial. I usually insist upon the lack of empathy for his one and only daughter, who is simply trying to restore peace to The Beast. My father, being the wise crack that he is, likes to say "Makenzie, I am your father." in his best Darth Vader voice.
Unlike the male parental, I don't see the humour in this issue. The young hipster takes this cue as though he's off the hook, and a certain empty gum package miraculously appears from inside of a size twelve skinny jean pocket. Brothers, are the equivalent of mosquitoes. They make lots of buzz and commotion, provoke you, irritate you and then fly away too quickly for you to catch them and squish them. My brother did all of these things as he skipped off to Justin-Beiber-a-go-go school.
Therefore my mother and I have taken a liking to hiding gum, or sabotaging the mini conspirator by buying "Adult" gum. He doesn't like mint, but the rest of us do. Lately though, he's been finding our hiding spots and my mother keeps forgetting which gum she doesn't like, so we end up with mass amounts of Frutie To The Max This and Minty Extreme Explosion That.
Anyways, it adds a bit of flavour to our northern mornings.