I’m all for parental guidance, advice and everything else that goes with it, but sometimes you just want to remove their voice box and watch them waddle round the kitchen like some kind of deranged headless chicken.
Don’t get me wrong everyone needs parents at some point, but for comical reasons I would occasionally love to shove my dad in the oven with a load of Aunt Bessie’s spuds and just see what happens.
Ok, so parents have to do the best thing and lets face it, they love any excuse to shout through the house (although it’s the first rule in the book of ‘what not to do and how to successfully annoy the neighbours’) but because they are the authoritive figures no one bats an eye.
The parental rar-rar-foot-stomp is also closely linked and most famously followed by the phrase ‘while you’re under this roof young lady…’ and this is when you know you’re in trouble. There is no amount of huffing that will stop your ears from blowing smoke and the urge to hurl something very heavy, or simply just kick the cat.
The up-side to these heavy hearted disputes is they are great to watch when it’s not you in the ring. Nothing beats the hyperbolic anger, stuttering and general nonsense that is spat out during a father/ mother and a miniature beast of burden ‘talk’. Arm actions are a favourite to keep an eye on: think charades, Hitler and YMCA
Long of the short is you are always in the wrong and there’s nothing you can do about it. So what if it wasn’t you that forgot to close the door, so what if it wasn’t you that lost the trusty remote, so what if you forgot to feed the birds and one was accidently massacred by the neighbour’s pedigree feline…no matter what you plead. You’re guilty.
So what is left for the enraged parent to do? They have expressed their views on your repugnant behaviour, lost their voice through strenuous repetitions of ‘my house, my house…’ and used up so much energy that they have to go for a 30 minute nap.
In the mean time you have a biased discussion with parent number two, the first person in your phonebook or your one remaining cat (the one that didn’t get kicked half an hour ago) and try to piece together what just happened.
Then from the depths of the dark you begin to hear a rumble, parent number one has awoken and is slowly making its way down the stairs, and being extra careful not to trip and slide to the bottom. This will only result in you wetting yourself with laughter, crying through the pain and ending up in another argument on ‘how to not laugh at people when they fall down the stairs’.
So once the parent has tackled the stairs and your laughter is tightly locked away inside the apologies begin. They apologise, you apologise and everyone has a cup of tea.
What a fantastic way to spend your evening. You end up with several stress spots, mainly caused through irritation rather than stress, and spend the night needing to wee because you drank so much tea.
Well I guess it could be worse, you could be watching Xfactor.
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