by
My 18-year-old daughter, Cecilia, was one of the most rebellious girls I'd ever seen. I mean, her shenanigans were off the charts.
I don't know what her problem was, whether she just hated my guts or if there was some switch inside her brain that made her act out, but I was at my wits' end.
My 18-year-old daughter, Cecilia, was one of the most rebellious girls I'd ever seen. I mean, her shenanigans were off the charts.
I don't know what her problem was, whether she just hated my guts or if there was some switch inside her brain that made her act out, but I was at my wits' end.
It wasn't until I was retelling some of her more egregious antics with one of my father friends that he smiled and told me his wife and daughters had been just like that.
I stared in utter shock at this man - whom I'd known for several years. His wife and daughters - 20 and 24 - were the absolute most perfect angels.
And now that I look back on it, maybe they were too perfect.
The two of us took a walk through the park at dusk and he explained exactly how he kept them in line.
He laughed and pulled out a bottle of what he called submissive women pills.
I shook my head. "Submissive women pills? Have you gone mad?"
READ MORE"Nope." He'd assured me. "These puppies were developed by the government. Of course who knows what those bastards had in mind for them." He laughed heartily. "But I know exactly what I used them for..."
I walked away from our little walk with a bottle of free-use pills. He explained every little detail about how they work. Apparently, with each use, their mind weakens further and further.
Until you're in complete control.
"COMPLETE control." He emphasized.
The way he'd said that sent wicked shivers down my spine.
"Start out slow." He suggested. "You want to modify Cecelia's behavior, right?"
I nodded.
"Have a pill ready to pop the moment she starts acting out. The moment you do, calm her down. Sit her down. Talk to her. Tell her that you're no longer tolerating her behavior." He'd stopped and looked me dead in the eye. "You have to be consistent. Every single time. Don't skip. Not even once..."
The thought of finally gaining some measure of control over my 18-year-old daughter filled me with hope. Hope I hadn't felt in many years.
So that night, I was ready. I had a glass of Bourbon and the pills at the ready. The moment Cecilia banged through the front door and waltzed through the living room like a whirlwind, I confronted her.
"What is it, father? I don't have --"
"Sit down." I interrupted her eye-rolling diatribe.
Cecilia opened her mouth to say something, thought better of it, then did exactly as I instructed.
My heart thundered in my chest. She hadn't listened to me in many years - let alone instantly obeyed.
COLLAPSE
