I'm very delighted indeed to report that after weeks of dropping subtle hints, I was rewarded with two poached eggs on toast and a cup of tea in bed this morning. Pretty cool eh? Admittedly half past seven was a little early, but the boy was determined to make sure that he had it all sorted before I woke up. Ten out of ten.
On a different note, I learnt a long time ago not to argue with a woman. Well women in general actually. They come at things from such a different perspective that even if by all the rules of nature I'm right, I'm wrong. What I hadn't realised is that if men are from Mars and women from Venus, well boys are from a different universe altogether.
Like all responsible parents (there's at least three of us in the country, we have a rule that if the boy goes out he needs to tell me where he's going and when he'll be back. After many hours of lecturing on the subject he's got it. So time for a cheer. Sometimes though for a variety of reasons the rule gets bent either by the boy or me. When that happens, I send a text asking when he'll be returning. Sometimes this works, sometimes I get the panicky text back to say he's on his way home. If I've explained it once I've explained it a hundred times, I'm just asking for a time of arrival, I'm not making a demand for return. And so it was today...he'd been invited for a lunch time party with the parents of his girlfriend. No time of return had been determined, so as I was getting hungry by 8ish, I texted wanting to know if he'd be back for supper. Twenty minutes later a taxi had been ordered by the hosts and the boy rematerialised. Grrrrrrr. I didn't want to curtail his social life. Grrrrr. Grrrrr. I'm sure I've explained it in words of one syllable, but perhaps I should try using a language he can understand. I'll try texting.
