Sunday, 3 March 2013

It’s a Teen Thing...

Yesterday evening was bemusing.  Why?  Because I found myself on a double date with my daughter and her boyfriend.  This all came about because last week Eleanor informed me it was her anniversary.
          ‘Anniversary?’ I repeated.  Had she, at some point, secretly married?  Given that she’s not quite 16 years old, surely not.  ‘What anniversary?’
          ‘I've been dating M for a whole year.’
          Well congratulations.  But in my day if you had a boyfriend you didn’t celebrate going-out-together-anniversaries.  But apparently I’m way behind the times – as always.  These days teenagers celebrate not just going out together for an entire year, but in some cases going out together for a full month.  Particularly when some of them chop and change boyfriends at a phenomenal rate.
          ‘So,’ I furrowed my brow, ‘hypothetically speaking, you could even have a weekiversary?’
          My teen rolled her eyes by way of response.  ‘Can you give me a lift?’ she asked.
          ‘A lift?  When?  And where to?’
          ‘A lift to the restaurant of course.  Saturday.  To celebrate our anniversary!’
          ‘But I’m going out myself on Saturday.’
          ‘Well can’t you forfeit?’
          ‘No!’
          ‘But it’s my ANNIVERSARY!’
          Geez.  I have always tried to compromise where my children are concerned. A little bit of what they want, and a little bit of what I want.  In this case we both wanted to go out.  And on a Saturday.
          ‘Okay.  In that case you’ll have to come to the same restaurant as us.’
          My daughter looked horrified.  ‘You’re joking.’
          I wasn’t.
          My daughter prepared for the event like a bride.  A trip to the beautician where eyebrows were shaped and various parts of the body waxed.  Then off to the hairdresser where her hair was curled into a zillion tumbling waves.  Next a visit to the nail bar for a manicure and polish, before finally slithering into new dress, shoes and perfectly accessorised clutch bag.  She walked into the restaurant looking like a million dollars.  Which was only right considering she’d practically spent that amount preparing for the big event.
          Mr V and I followed Eleanor and M into the restaurant.
          ‘Your family table is here,’ said a bowing and scraping waiter.
          ‘No, no, no!’ my daughter protested.  ‘We have to have a table somewhere else.  Preferably a good mile away from the parents.’
          And so it was that Mr V and myself found ourselves at one end of the restaurant while my daughter and her boyfriend settled down to gaze at each other across a distant candlelit table.  They instantly began to bill and coo like a pair of turtle doves.
          How lovely, I thought.  How romantic.  I looked at my husband.
          ‘Do you remember when you used to look at me like that?’
          My husband’s eyes met mine, before diverting to the menu which he gazed at adoringly.  ‘Ooh, beef medallions.’
          ‘I thought you were worried about everything being horse meat in disguise?’
          ‘Not here,’ he stroked the menu lovingly.  At one point I thought he was going to kiss it.
          My eyes flitted across the restaurant.  Eleanor and M were holding hands across the table. I could see them deep in conversation.  I tried to lip read but unfortunately I’m a bit myopic when it comes to distance.
          ‘So,’ I turned back to Mr V.  ‘How about some romantic conversation?’
          Mr V put down his menu.  ‘Manchester United won against Norwich today.  Four nil.  Cracking.  And I’m warning you now Debbie, next Tuesday the boys are up against Real Madrid, so absolutely no interruptions okay?’
          ‘You once told me my eyes were like limpid green pools.’
          ‘Rooney scored a brilliant fourth goal.  And Van Persie’s back injury seems okay now.’
          ‘Do you like my dress?’
         
United hardly broke sweat re-establishing their 15-point cushion at the top of the Premier League.’
          ‘That’s thrilling.  Can we talk about something else?’
          So my husband talked to me about mortgages instead.  Offset ones.  And money.  And how to save it.  He’s very good with money.  So am I, but more so at spending it.  Although I did demonstrate a major bit of money saving flair when I splurged on a new car a little while ago.  I bought a Micra.  Fantastic at pootling around town economically.  Does umpteen miles to the gallon, and thanks to technology and carbon footprint wotsits and clean emission thingies, the road tax is only thirty pounds a year.  Thirty pounds a year.  The fact that I recently forgot to renew the road tax and was fined forty quid is neither here nor there.
          Which reminds me.  A man was driving behind a lorry.  Suddenly he had to swerve to avoid a falling box full of nails and tacks.  Seconds later a policeman pulled him over for reckless driving and tacks evasion...

1 comment:

  1. I so recognise this! It occurred to me when I was out with Hubby a couple of weeks ago that most of our conversation is about the kids... and mortgages, of course (but I'm the one who usually brings that up!)

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