Incandescent with rage I’m afraid.
All jocularity about the teenwolf and his laundry habits are over.
This morning, on discovering a massive pile of rubbish and clothes in his room I took a deep breath and retreated to the kitchen to regain my composure. When he came swashbuckling in sleepy faced I asked.
‘So any clothes made it into your laundry basket?’
A rhetorical question.
‘No’ – doesn’t give a toss.
‘Why not?’ ill disguised fury escaping by means of hisses from the gaps between my teeth
‘Just not quite there with it yet.’ He toyed with his toast.
Eyeballs out on stalks I fought the urge to grab him and stare into his sleepy teenwolf face and screech ‘WHAT !!!!!!!!!?????????’
So I clanged things down in the kitchen, stomped about, and behaved like….well like a teenager I suppose.
Of course he didn’t notice.
I drove him to school (because I am of course a complete sap) then half way down the road to the school he criticised my driving.
Braver men have died for less.
I put the brakes on.
‘What? ‘ seemed to give a toss now.
‘NO?’ Volume liable to shatter windscreen
‘No.’ too cool for his own good if you ask me
‘OK, ‘ I said sounding rather more Basil Fawlty than I would have liked ‘ I am turning left at these lights. You can get out here or I can drive you home and you can walk all the way from there’.
‘Why are you going left?’
I could feel my temples throbbing and all past imaginings of being a cool Zen type mother were long gone.
He flung the door open and got out. The door slammed. We didn’t exchange even a glance.
Well that was a shit start to the day. Though I have worked out where I will be when he comes home.
I wonder how long it will take him to notice. I could be some time.