Got home from work late last night to be confronted by The Teenager hovering by the door.
Teenager announced that he has decided he wants to do a degree in ‘Plumbery’.
Since Teenager is on his fifth attempt at acquiring his GCSEs due to an inability to prioritise carrying a school bag with books in it, over swaggering around with his crew looking ‘street’ – I must confess to a certain level of skepticism in that area.
I sure do hope, however, that I’m a fly on the wall when he tries to sign up for a university degree course in ‘Plumbery’.
When my eyes had re-focused from all the eye-rolling they had spontaneously erupted into, I walked into the kitchen and turned on the light.
Entire contents of cutlery, crockery and saucepan cupboards used and abandoned on work surfaces.
Eyes spazzed out again.
Turned light off so that I didn’t have to look at it all (what the eyes can’t see, the mother cannot grieve over).
Tried to rinse out a cup, discovered (by sticking my finger into it) that it had already been used for Cocoa Pops. Felt around for another cup, couldn’t find one but did strike it lucky when I came upon a measuring jug.
Rinsed out measuring jug and made a cup of tea.
Trudging upstairs (in the pitch black, no bulb in the hall) I tried to recall the exact date when I went from being proud in the house to, well, not being, and it dawned on me that it wasn’t so much a pro-active decision as it was an admission of defeat.
Kid-Krap has been my Waterloo.
Plus briskly, competent old ladies probably wouldn’t accept Tesco ClubCard points as legal tender.
Firing up the laptop I logged on to the only site that can give me what I need. What I desire most.
My version of Mummy-Porn.
Rightmove dot com.
New Homes For Sale.
Don’t tell anyone but ooooooh, look at the size of that breakfast bar.