The day the oil ran out (2)

Dad headed toward the gate at the sound of Greensleeves. I watched him as he had a conversation with the man in the truck, and then returned to the house laden with a tub of icecream and two packets of potato chips. 

Got some more, he announced, as he laid these staples on the kitchen bench.

It was Copper Kettle salt flavour for the potato chips, and Vanilla for the icecream.  

Then Dad went back to his computer.

I sighed. How were we going to live on potato chips and icecream? Maybe he could, but I was starving! I estimated how long the ice cream would last, but since our fresh milk supplies had run out and Dad hadn’t been driving to the dairy anymore, he  now seemed to be relying on Mr Whippy for delivery and had now hit on the idea of using  ice cream instead to melt and use as milk for his coffee. Which made it extra sweet, but that was how he liked it. Also, the coffee, he said, helped him sleep at night. 

The chips, would last forever, as long as the foil packets were unopened. 

All my attempts for our household to be self-sufficient had fallen on deaf ears. Solar energy was too expensive to install, it wasn’t worth investing in a rain tank, and the energy companies were just dying for our custom, judging by the number of telemarketers who rang and door knockers who knocked on our door. Dad liked his lawn and wasn't about to give it up so I could grow food on it instead.  I figured having no petrol for the car would put a damper on things but Dad used as much electricity as before and seemed to have a she’ll be right attitude that suggested the recent news of NO MORE OIL was a temporary glitch and we would soon have the gushers back on again, or the Antarctica ice shelf would suddenly melt, revealing the black gold underneath just waiting to be tapped. 

I went back to my container plants which were growing silently as they did and waving their leafy greenness at me. It was only a matter of time. I snipped some parsley and went about making fritters of what was left of the Woodside harvest from the weekend. Thank goodness Mum was away and couldn’t see the mess I was making of the kitchen. But looking after Dad when he refused to be looked after and continuing to eat a rebellious teenagers diet that would probably be the death of him I felt was too much of a responsibility for me. Since when did I become the mum around here?

Or the breadwinner, for that matter? Because now it seemed all the bills were coming to my name.