The Teenager’s new leaf has remained sunny-side up.
He has returned, once again, to being the kid who frequently, and for no reason at all, falls off the sofa half-way through Eastenders and thinks that cutlery slash bowls are a time-wasting-technicality when it comes to eating breakfast-cereal.
As a result, walking up the stairs is once again a matter of following the trail of Rice Krispies to the entrance to his laboratory.
He has given up showering and washing his teeth again, and the arse-shaped print on his carpet is back.
Having said all of that, I’m definitely not going to be looking in the mouth of this particular gift-horse; I’m sort of enjoying having things back to normal.
Why, just this very morning, I was getting ready to take Annabelle to school and had put on my red body-warmer thing (which is, in my opinion very hip and cooool). I walked into the Teenager’s lair to let him know we were going; he took one look at me and started snortling yoghurt out of his nose.
He then proceeded to follow me down the stairs and out to the door (in front, may I add of all the other mummies) where he hollered to my retreating back that ‘No, he hadn’t seen my DeLorean time machine, that there were no Libyans here and that if I was going to insist on going back to the future, that could I please take my ‘crazy’ someplace else’.
He has, ever since, been referring to me as Marty, Marty McFly or, on one occasion when he was trying to get me to give him one of my bags of Twiglets, just McFly.
Yep, the sarky little slob is back.
Oh happy day.