If you have a teenage daughter, you know what this word can sound like:
I hadn't told her she couldn't stay out past eleven with her friends. I hadn't told her to do the dishes two nights in a row. I hadn't even borrowed her favorite earrings without asking.
"What? What did I do wrong?" I asked.
"Bwah! Nothing!" she flapped her hands in frustration at the last page of my unfinished manuscript. "It's just you ended on a cliff-hanger AGAIN! And there are no more pages left for me to read! YOU NEED TO FINISH THIS BOOK!"
That's the kind of teenage-girl exasperation I truly appreciate.