Friday, August 9, 2013

Chilling = Dossing = Smelling


    Son of Whirl is home for the Summer and naturally (naturally) I’m as thrilled as it’s possible for a Parent of Zero Thrill to be.

    In previous years I’ve been on hand to augment the childcare provided by various grannies, school-based play schemes, and prison-run straitjacket stress tests.  Over the years Son of Whirl has taken part in plays, storytelling workshops, 100-a-side football games at badly staffed sports afternoons, adventure hikes, camping trips and wild elephant rides.  Call me a blower of his own trumpet, but when my son was 3, I did make an excellent wild elephant.

    This time round, he’s not interested in all that stuff.  All he wants to do is chill out on a virtual bean bag of slack and mess his mates on Facebook.  Maybe then he’ll go online as some ludicrously named monk in Dungeons & Dragons, mine a few chunky pixels of semi-tangible crap in Minecraft or catch up on the imperceivably peurile LOLs of every airhead and dimbo on YouTube.

    The label on his clothes reads WASTE-OF-SPACE and his chosen eau de cologne is Nostril Assaulting Skunk Piss Hosedown From Hell.  Spending more than a few minutes in his company has less to do with pleasure than if John Terry produced his filthiest ever jockstrap and  pressed it against your nose, yelling, “let’s play a game of Anaesthetists & Trussed Gimps for the next 27½ hours!”  At the start of the holiday it was a real effort dealing with Son of Whirl’s presence.  My deep sea diving outfit took more than an hour to put on and the laser shields I purchased from Star Trek Spaceship Hardware Retailers RU R-UZ R-Everyone required shutting down the national grid within a five mile radius of Whirl Towers — for just a second and a half of protection.

    Mind you, when you spend a lot of time with someone who’s usually out of the house all day, you do find out lots of interesting stuff.

    How’s it going, son?

    Mfff.

    What do you make of the Chancellor’s decision to alter the tax threshold?

    Mng.

    Isn’t it interesting how most IKEA wardrobes are unable to tell the difference between a moose and an elliptical galaxy 64 trillion light years away?

    Mnff.

    Even on a good day, having a conversation with Son of Whirl is about as productive and fun as watching an amoeba prolapse.

    I close now to hoover and dust around him.  Then I’ll open my front door in the hope that a passing ruffian might come over all opportunistic and steal him...


 Son of Whirl, au laptop, au chair of my Dad's he loves to bits because "there's room for a mouse"...

9 comments:

Shona Snowden said...

The joy of teens.

Shona Snowden said...

The joy of teens.

Shona Snowden said...

The joy of teens.

Whirlochre said...

Indeed

Whirlochre said...

Indeed

Whirlochre said...

Indeed

Mother (Re)produces. said...

I've got three of these monsters- *and* they're female. Imagine all that plus the constant reek of nail varnish remover. Total hell. Now you know why I write in the garden shed in the summer.

Mother (Re)produces. said...

I've got three of these monsters- *and* they're female. Imagine all that plus the constant reek of nail varnish remover. Total hell. Now you know why I write in the garden shed in the summer.

Whirlochre said...

Uh oh — double trouble.

So glad I missed out on the make up deal. I'd have been too tempted to join in...