teenagers

i have one myself and cannot stress enough that no parent of a teenager (in their right mind which is possibly an oxymoron?) could ever recommend acquiring one. oops, i can hear child services hammering on the door as i type. and “why not ?”, i hear armies of slack-assed, glowering human beings mumble in unison. well, i’ll tell you why not.

you all mumble 

my own particular once-charming little boy has turned into a 7 foot something mumbler. gone are the days of lively chatter and endless farting and bottom jokes. no. i’m lucky to get a nod in my general direction these days. asking “where are you going?” usually prompts a very unforthcoming and unsatisfactory answer like “errr m@ frien*s”. “when will you be back?” “err i dun^o, may#e at (unintelligible mumble). thanks teenager. that’ll stop us worrying ourselves to death about where you are and what you’re up to.

you dress stupid

yeah, sorry guys. it’s all rebellious and we’re just old fogies who “don’t get you” but wearing your trousers like that is stupid. let me say it again… it’s stoooopid. and let me tell you a little secret…the teenage girls you fancy, think so too. it’s especially stupid when your pants have holes in them and ridiculously stupid when you try and run. penguin have to put up with waddling because they have little legs but you’re not penguins. it does give us a laugh though.

you used to be cute

yes, you did! but you have to realise (quite quickly) that cute was enough when you were 6. it still worked when you were 10 sometimes but most people you meet in life didn’t know you when you were 6 or 10 and have no memory of you to hold on to when you’re mumbling or wearing your trousers around your knees.

and this is not a hotel

anyone who has been a parent will know that babies and children are hard work. we get to be cook, doctor, teacher, cleaner upper, chauffeur and general frightener away of monsters and ghouls that lurk in the cupboard and under the bed. but that has to come to an end, dearest teenager. we were people before you arrived (i know, i know, you didn’t ask to be born) and we are still almost human now. if you would like to have your room tidied, your meals cooked when and how you choose and be free to come and go without having to engage in (oh the horror!) of a real conversation, there is a place you can go and it’s called A HOTEL. the staff there actually get paid for their work and you have to pay for the privilege of staying there.

i now open the floor to your insightful comments on teenageness.

next post… awful parents.

stay tuned