The Teenager has a new hobby.
I am unsure whether or not I should be concerned about this new development and, despite frantic Google searches, can find nothing whatsoever at all about ‘dog forum-ania’ following a brief stint at crime and disorder in the developmental stages of a teenager.
He has uploaded some ‘pics’ of Hector and has a profile that boasts a portfolio of doggy images with names like ‘Hector eating dinner’, ‘Hector playing with an old coke bottle’ and ‘Hector takes a nap’.
His new, silver surfing, chums seem delighted with this arrangement and are equally forthcoming with images and anecdotes about their four-legged-friends.
I am being treated, on an hourly basis, to updates on Alf and his Yorkshire Terrier. Betty-Blue and her Labradoodle (I’m fairly sure that back in the day, we used to call cross-breeds like that ‘mongrels’, but time marches on and now, apparently they’re a ‘breed’) and Dog-Lover24 and his gaggle of Golden Retrievers.
I could be wrong, but I fear that we may well be into serious ‘Hail Mary’ territory here.
When he was ‘trying on’ the ASBO personality, I had a rough idea how society expected me to respond. Even the American Pie incident of a few weeks ago came with a relatively predicable set of reaction guidelines but this, well this is completely off-road.
When being given a bollocking by a adolescent with ketchup on his chin about why I shouldn’t ‘ak-chu-alli-dontcha-know’ be scraping left-over Chinese into the dog’s bowl, I honestly and truly have no idea how I should be arranging my face.
I went with ‘Oh shut-up you tart’ in the first instance but as he’s surprisingly feisty, he managed to wrestle the plastic container of Chicken-Chow-Mein out of my hands which he then danced around the kitchen holding out of my reach.
I was midway through plotting a rebellious, middle-of-the-night serving of rescued-from-the-bin-doggy-take-away-fest when It dawned on me that maybe he’s right.
Hmmmm, the student becomes the master.
I wonder what he’s going to say when he gets home from seeing his mates and discovers that Annabelle has spent the morning colouring the dog in so that his spots all join up in a purply-reddy-yellow-ish mosaic of splendour.
Wherever did she get an idea like that?
I’m shocked and appalled but at least my face now knows what to do with itself.
<insert raspberry-blowing-sound here>.