Now that my children are teenagers, they get out and about more. “Yes, this is a good thing,” I think to myself. “More freedom, not having to worry about cooking family meals every night, especially with my sweet H, who is partial to meat and hooves, not in the house. Perhaps a little stir fry tonight…a carrot and some tofu and beansprouts...”
But No! Now they flock like birds. You don’t see a teenager for a while because it has been feeding somewhere else. When it finally returns it is accompanied by the rest of the flock/herd/plague and they fall upon the freezer and strip it in seconds like locusts.
I am about to go on a little voyage to London and so have been frog marched to the supermarket by the teenage house guardians who may be having a little party…The freezer has been temporarily restocked, the wine cellar locked (they supply their own), and my bedroom will be barricaded, probably to no avail.
Drummer boy’s girlfriend has just had her tongue pierced and is unable to eat or drink anything for the next three days without using a straw, but I expect that help will arrive to demolish the freezer contents. Darling D has just tidied and vacuumed her bedroom without nagging for the first time ever, so I think that she must be throwing her room open to the public. That just leaves Porridge. Drummer boy has mentioned dying Porridge blue, but he can’t be serious, can he?
9 hours ago