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Friday, 7 February 2014

No Sick Stuff in this House. No Teenage Kicks No Kinky.

He doesn't actually drink.
"Yeah, yeah , think it was the pizza. Oh yeah  definitely the pizza, last night. Yeah."  The boy is at his blandest to an enquiry about  my early morning encounter with his shoes, planted on the hall mat, encrusted with vomit. I mean it was Saturday, it was early, and I only just registered this in passing on my way to a meeting. I was quite tempted to bat the memory away, turn a blind eye as it were. But I gird  my loins for a blistering interrogation.

Not really.
He persists. Yeah, he met up with his friends last night. Yeah he came back after midnight, and yeah  but ... No!  He doesn't actually drink, hardly ever, not really. Well OK OK he may have had a few drinks, but so what?  Why can't he have a few drinks?.   All his friends have a .... , and am I actually saying he CAN'T have a few drinks? Well I can forget that. And anyway he hardly ever only on a Friday, would never ever have more than a few. Like?  Three say, or four maybe. What do I mean four what?  What do I think he means?.  Cans!, cans!, and no he's not  totally underage. Well, but he doesn't actually buy them in the PUB, and besides he paid for them himself,.didn't he? He has a  Saturday job, doesn't he?  And besides what did I do when I was his age, and also and he has already said, it wasn't  drinking, IT WAS THE PIZZA!

IT WAS THE PIZZA.
I tell him that's a crock, and  if he does it again there will be most Severe Repercussions, and I'm on his case, and now I'm leaving him to reflect on what I've just said. I exit stage left.

He will sleep on the sofa.
I  almost make it to the deep deep peace of the marital bedroom, when I am nabbed by the beautiful girl who wants to know if her quite as  beautiful boyfriend could't stay at ours next Saturday night, "because you see we're off to a party thing,and oh NO alchohol! what do you mean alcohol?,  over our way, and how is he to get home after, unless of course you might be able to give him a lift?" but anyway not to worry, she often stays at his, and so...."Often stays at his! But.. but surely only once or twice, and only after I had spoken to his mother. Surely?..and and.... Leave him Home?. No I will not Leave him Home, why should I....and also where would she be proposing  he sleeps? Anyway":.

Naturally.
She arches an elegant eyebrow, "Oh sleeps? Why on the sofa naturally,.IF that's what you want. Whatever. Don't know what the problem is. Never a problem at his. And HIS mother is cool. And very strict. As well". Plus she is eighteen years old. Almost. Can do what she likes. So can he. So can he or can't he. Stay?. I tell her I'll get back to her. Later. "On terms.  With consequences" I throw over my shoulder as I dive through my own bedroom door..

 One day baby.
"I'm gonna leave you now, to get your Severe Repercussions in a row and ready to fire" my husband says, who is of the opinion that I'm peeing in the wind, so to speak, ought to give it up, let it go, bow to the inevitable. "But first perhaps, we should have a little rest" he smirks thoughtfully. "Minors," I say "both of 'em, minors. And I intend to pee away,  frustrate, limit, make tricky - tricky all boozing, fornication and other delightful freedoms, until they reach the age of majority. And roll on the age of majority.  And after that they're can clutter up their own heads with their vomity shoes, and sleeping partners, you and me baby will be out to lunch, busy busy doing esoteric things. And also having ACTUAL good long rests.