Stumbling in Flats

The Teenager went back to school on Tuesday, his last year at High School.

From a tiny child in a funny uniform to a very tall person armed with attitude, the school years have flown by.

I reminded him of his ‘graduation’ ceremony from nursery, aged four, complete with gown, cap and scroll. He claims not to remember and didn’t want to see the photographs. Shame really.

Anyway, we’ve bought the folders, the pens, the whiteboard, the paper.

On his first day back, I eagerly awaited an update;

‘Here, have a cookie, how’d it go?’

The Teenager rolls his eyes and swiftly examines the empty packet, plucked from the bin, and reprimands me for the amount of carbs in one single biscuit.

‘Right, have a protein shake and a banana? How’d it go?’

‘S’aright’.

‘Sounds good, yeah?’

‘S’aright, s’pose. What’s for dinner?’

‘A carb-free delight. How’d it go?’

‘Mum. It was fine. S’good.’

His thumbs flew over his phone as he was speaking to me, intermittently snorting and laughing.

‘Er? Hello?’

‘Mum. I’m all growed up. S’cool. Yeah?’

‘Ok. I’ll just have one of these cookies. Maybe two.’

The week progressed and he ran down my printer ink, depleted my finances and then let me know there was a sixth form party.

‘Right. Party. At someone’s house?’ (fingers crossed)

‘Nah. Town.’

‘Ah. Right.’

‘Mum. Muuuuuum. Everyone’s going. And that girl.’

‘Huh? What girl?’

Fast forward to the evening in question. He produced shoes from nowhere (very smart, very nice), had a haircut, used up my expensive hair serum, pre-loaded himself with fragrance and sat jiggling his feet in the living room, waiting for his lift.

‘Sixth from disco, eh?’

‘Mum. Disco? It’s in a club.’

‘Course’.

‘How’s my hair?’

‘Fab. Can I have my serum back? Ta.’

‘Erm, can we talk about girls? Like, women?’

‘Mum. I’m a cougar magnet, chill.’

I choked on my Diet Coke.

‘Huh?’

‘Joke! It’s fine. Can I have some money?’

After he left, I cast my mind back to my first ever night out in town when I was in sixth form. The ghastly little black dress, the tights, the shoes. The hair! God, the hair.

I reckon he’ll have an easier time. He’s good-looking, tall and has a fabulous mother behind him, lol. I hope he finds that girl/woman he has his eye on. And he will invite her round for coffee so I can interrogate her as to her intentions towards my son.

Joking …