|We have pretty money|
Clueless Wonder Two is in between school terms. It’s summer down under so he’s here. It’s been a while. Quite a while. He’s a teenage boy who speaks in grunts, a language I am slow to understand. If anyone has a manual, I will pay in liquid gold, tequila, the Yen or any currency you want. Name your price.
So, we were having that conversation. Again. The one that goes. Holy crap, it’s three a.m, and someone is breaking into the house. Wait. They’ve already broken in. I can hear footsteps. But, how would they know the alarm code? Armed with a flat-iron, I ventured into the living room. Clueless was eating a mandarin in the kitchen.
Clueless: “Got bored.”
Me: “How did you get home?
Clueless: Another mandarin down. “Walked.”
Me: Trying not to blow a vein. “You walked! Why didn’t you call me, or Uber?”
Clueless: Shrugs shoulders.
He went to bed to sleep hopefully (that’s another blog post), and I went to bed to fret over all the things that could have happened. So, the next morning, after a calming herbal tea. I wanted a quadruple shot of coffee, but I needed to have this chat in a calm and composed manner. Well, out came the camel spitting attitude. He’s okay, nothing would happen, it was only five miles (I nearly faint), I’m too over protective, and this is exactly like the time I wouldn’t let him go trick or treating by himself when he was seven. Even with me hiding behind lampposts and pretending we weren’t related.
Me. Doing a quick match calculation: “That was nine years ago!”
Clueless: With a look of evil triumph: “I walked home last night, and nothing happened. It would have been the same then.”
It wouldn’t, but debating with the equivalent of a hissing camel was getting us nowhere. But, holy hell. He’s held onto this for nine years!
Admittedly, I have held onto stuff, but I don’t think for nine years. I do remember hanging onto resentment at my mother not letting me go to a party when I was sixteen, and all the cool kids were going – to a beach without any adults there but probably bucket loads of cheap alcohol. In hindsight, I can see her reasoning, but I don’t think I’ve held a grudge for nine years. I’m not Freud, but I think that’s unhealthy.
It should be noted that The Fake Gordon Ramsay was in Chicago or off with his new and improved family.
I guess that means Clueless and I will sit down and examine if there’s anything else festering in there that needs to come out.
Is there anything you’ve held onto for too long?