"Lizzie, if you're not going to live by the rules of this house, well, you can just find another mother and maid, and cook, by the way."
"You don't mean that."
"Yes, I do. There are things that are just not on. You've crossed that line, again, and I'm sick and tired of it."
"That's three cliches, mom."
"I don't care what that is. You'd better--"
"Better what?"
"Stop. Stop, I say. Where'd you get such sass?"
"From you."
"Out you go."
At that my mom's hands grabbed my shoulders and turned me around. She marched me--my cliche--to the front door and pushed me out onto the porch. She grabbed the wildly swinging screen door and pulled it shut and locked it. She looked out through the screen door, her face now a blur peering out at me.
"You're taking this. . . . Unhinged, you are. Unhinged."
