The hell getting home

Before I even got home, my mum was shouting. I was so annoyed. 

My dad said he's pick me up outside the station and so I waited and 15 minutes later, he still wasn't there. 

I called my mum and she was like, try the JD sports car park and so I did. 

He wasn't there. 

I was surprised. It is so unlike my dad to let me down or to be unreliable. 

I walked back to Wembley Stadium Station and then realised. 

What if dad thought he was supposed to meet me at Wembley Park. 

That would be plausible even though I've pointed out to both of them that I always come back through Wembley Stadium station.

So I call my mum and she is shouting. Shouting at how stupid my dad is for not taking his phone and shouting at me telling me she is fed up with me and that I was being stupid and that I shouldn't have told her I was coming back at Wembley Park if I was coming back at Wembley Stadium station. 

So I am there outside outlet, shouting into my phone that I am not stupid to MISTAKE where I am coming back and that she just didn't ask and when I tried to say, she cut off and I forgot. I was trying to tell her - not that she listened - that I was the one who had the right to be angry seeing as I had walked to and back several times with luggage. My hands, freezing. (I checked on Google and it was two miles. I walked 2 bloody miles). Dad had a right to be angry, waiting over an hour. But mum, who was at home, not cold and perpetually waiting, didn't have it too bad. 

I swear, I just wanted to turn back and go to Warwick because damn it. 

I went Wembley Park. There was my dad, reliable as ever. Just simply a victim of miscommunication.