Thank God Teenboy has gone back to university!!
I was so pleased when he came home for Christmas but the pleasure at having him here lasted about two days.
I really thought 4 months at Uni would’ve matured him, made him at least slightly more considerate and a lot easier to live with.
Within two days he’d rocked up drunk both nights, the second night he raided the fridge ripping open a packet of naice ham like a wild racoon. Took a couple of slices then just left it in the fridge like that.
By the time I found it the next lunchtime (when I was looking forward to a sandwich with said naice ham) it was hard and curled and went straight in the bin.
Of course, as is Teenboy’s way, he lied about it. Wasn’t him, didn’t know what I was talking about, blah, blah, bloody blah.
From there he went onto Facebook, apparently home hasn’t changed a bit. So I told him, via the medium of Facebook, that if he didn’t like it here he could go back to Southampton. I’d even drive him.
I love, love, love that his FB friends took my side and put him in his place quite firmly!
By day 3 I had laid down the rules and he was only staying here provided he abided by them.
Which he managed to do as long as they didn’t require effort or need him to be out of bed before 2pm or in the house before 2am or sober between the hours of 7pm and 2am.
And so we rubbed along okay-ish, until this weekend when he needed to get organised to go back to Uni.
As is Teenboy’s way, there was no organisation. I tried to get him organised (I know I said I’d let him fuck up on his own but this was things that’ll impact upon me) but he refused by just not being here.
And now I’m left with a car (not sure if it’s clean and tidy yet) that I need to find somewhere off the road to store, I need to SORN it and I need to sell it. Because he did none of these things.
I’m bloody tempted to just give it away, cos he obviously doesn’t need the money desperately or he’d have got his finger out his arse and got it on eBay.
Saturday night saw Teenboy stumble into the house rocking and rolling full of Jagerbombs and beer with the occasional whiskey.
Shortly after he could be heard violently puking in the bathroom followed by much loud crashing about as he tried to find his way into bed and then falling back out!
“I can’t believe he’s got into such a state,” I said to myself as I was only other person awake, “To be so drunk that he’s throwing up. And he’d better not think I’m cleaning that toilet up. Bloody ridiculous, how dare he?!!!”
And then I had a wee word with myself followed by a wee giggle.
At 19 and even 29 I was the exact same. I have no idea how many times I crashed around my mum’s house in the middle of the night or threw up in and down the side of the loo. And I never once cleaned it up, not even on the night I fell asleep with my head on the sicky toilet bowl.
He’s me, he’s exactly me.
He’s selfish and lazy and thoughtless. But he’s kind and caring and hardworking when he likes what he’s doing. He’s oblivious to anybody else’s feelings, yet worries what people think of him. He lets people down at the drop of a hat, but feels disappointment like a knife to his heart. And he’s a show off (hence the amount of alcohol drunk these past two weeks).
He’s a drunken, wild, party animal who knows how to really let loose and party hard but he’ll be there for anybody who needs him no matter how drunk he is.
And that was me at 19 (and for far too many years after).
He’s a good boy really, he’s just not so good with doing stuff that interferes with having fun.