What Does 'Pot Calling The Kettle Black' Mean?

Parents like to say every child is a part of them. In our house, I was but a splinter under the skin. Mom and Dad were a blended couple. They could not bring themselves to truly punish my stepbrother and stepsister, so they had me and turned me into their cautionary example. When my brother came last in his class, Dad locked me in a dog crate under the blazing sun to teach him what happened to people who refused to study. When my sister started dating too young, Mom drugged me and dumped me in a homeless encampment to show her what could happen if she was not careful. Then one day, Dad found a takeout receipt in the trash. He forced poisoned food into my mouth and made me swallow. "Today, I am going to teach you all a real lesson. This is what happens when you eat whatever you want behind our backs." Even as I coughed blood and writhed on the floor, Dad threw me into the punishment room. My brother and sister rushed to confess and begged Mom to let me out. But Mom only said coldly, "You two will learn this lesson properly today. When you have learned it, I will let him out." I sat on the floor as blood soaked through my shirt. As my consciousness faded, I finally understood. Dad, your last cautionary lesson had to be taught with my life.

To avoid being accused of favoritism, my mother forced me, despite my severe anemia, to participate in the school's group blood donation drive. After only 100 milliliters, my vision started going dark. I reached for the needle, trying to stop the procedure, but the young nurse immediately grabbed my wrist and pinned it down. "Only 100 milliliters and you already want to quit? The other students all donated 400." She glanced at my pale face, her eyes full of disgust. "Donating blood is something honorable. Selfish people like you, pretending to be sick just to get out of it, deserve to have double drawn as punishment!" Nearby, my mother watched me coldly, disappointment written all over her face. "Briana Hayes, is this really how I raised you? "Everyone else donated. Don't think you're special. "You will finish these 400 milliliters today, even if it kills you!" I gasped for air, my heartbeat pounding so violently it felt like my chest would explode. By the time they reached the third bag, my vision had completely blurred, and I collapsed heavily onto the floor. My soul slowly drifted upward as I looked at my mother with guilt in my eyes. I'm sorry, Mom. I really wasn't lying. This time… I truly couldn't hold on any longer.

As I was about to leave my brother’s restaurant, the female manager stopped me. "Miss, excuse me, but you haven’t paid your bill." I looked at the unfamiliar face and thought that she was probably new and didn’t recognize me, so I explained politely, "Just put it on the owner’s tab. He knows me." The manager shot me a disdainful look. "Miss, this is a Michelin three-star restaurant. We don’t let just anyone run up a tab." She handed me a printed bill. I glanced at it. Fifty thousand dollars for one meal. Three thousand for tableware maintenance, five thousand for exclusive air purification, ten thousand for a VIP mood-calming service fee, and a bunch of other ridiculous charges. I didn’t even know my brother’s place was such a scam. I couldn’t help but laugh in disbelief. "I’m the owner’s sister. If there’s a problem, tell him to talk to me at home." But she just wouldn’t drop it. "If you can’t afford it, stop acting like you can. And don’t act like you know Mr. White, either." I fired off a quick text to my secretary. 【Tell my brother to either fire this manager or I’m pulling my investment.】

Everyone said I was too possessive when it came to my girlfriend, Amanda Crane. When Amanda first started taking photos of her childhood friend, Ian Lewis, I ripped apart all the rolls of film. When she helped him fix his computer, I called her 100 times in an hour. And when he called her from the airport, asking her to pick him up because the rain made it impossible to get a cab, I held a knife to my throat. I told her I'd take my own life if she went to him. Fed up, Amanda shipped me off to a psychiatric hospital that same night. When I got out, I vanished. Amanda was certain I was hiding somewhere, spying on her and Ian, but I never showed up—until the celebration party for a business project three years later. Ian put his arm around Amanda and swirled the wine glass he was holding. He shot me a taunting look, remarking, "You used to get so jealous, Steven. I'm sure you no longer mind if Mandy and I drink from the same glass now, right?" He waited for me to go berserk the way I used to three years ago, but I simply moved the bottle of wine closer to them. "I don't mind at all, of course. Have as many glasses as you want. It's great to see that your relationship has been progressing so well." Amanda paused. Her eyes started to redden. She stared fixedly at me and questioned, "Why don't you feel jealous anymore, Steven?"

Hayden Jenkins, the driver whom I've recruited, often brings his girlfriend, Casey Sloan, along whenever he drives me to the company. Seeing as Casey's destination is just along the way, I don't bother commenting about it. But one time, when I open the car door, I see a note being pasted to the back seat. It says, "Car moochers aren't allowed in this car." I rip the note off the seat and ask Hayden, "What's the meaning of this?" Casey glares at me from the front passenger seat. She snaps at me, "Don't you know how to read? Every day, you keep mooching off my boyfriend's car! Seriously, are you this shameless? If you can't afford a ride, then don't ever leave your house! I hate car moochers like you the most!" I'm confused, to say the least. That's when Hayden jogs toward me and mumbles to me, "Ms. Gray, Casey doesn't know that I work as your driver. She's rather possessive, and she only sticks this note on the back seat out of her love toward me. "By the way, Casey really doesn't like sharing the car with you. I'll drop her off first. After that, I'll come back for you." After that, Hayden drives my car away. I remain rooted to the same spot, though I'm quick to call the police. "Hello. A man and a woman have stolen my car. Please dispatch an officer as soon as possible."

When my cousin, Rita Pike, brings her boyfriend, Benny Booker, home to meet her parents, I get labelled as a freeloader for some reason. As soon as Benny steps through the front door, he shoots me a disdainful glance. "You're the cousin who refuses to move out of my girlfriend's villa, right?" I just stare at him in confusion. Yes, I do live in this villa. But my parents have left this property to me as a part of my assets. My name is the one printed on the property deed. Heck, I'm the one who told my butler to give Rita a room to stay here! Why is it that I'm painted as the poor relative who refuses to move out now that she's dating another man?