Friday, 9 September 2011

The Cruelty of Youth

Ah, the cruelty of youth ... or of my own two youths to be particular.

Girl One and Two are teenage girls. They are 15 years old. They are clever. They are beautiful. They are kind to children and dumb creatures alike (one of them even loves Jedward), but to me.. the woman that carried them in her womb and practically died (died I tell you) in the delivery suite. The woman from whom they obviously inherited their brains and beauty. Obviously *looks around challengingly*... To me, they are needlessly cruel.

Twin One thinks it's beyond hilarious to call me "Bingo Wings." She likes to call me it, rather louder than necessary, when we are company, whether we know the company we are in or not. The pitiful looks I've had whilst trundling through a crowded supermarket as Twin One strides along cheerfully calling "Oi, Bingo Wings, look at this." have taught me there are no holes in the floors of supermarkets large enough to swallow me and my bingo wings. Teeny, tiny little wings though they might be.

Their latest cruelty though not just takes the biscuit, it takes an entire tin and a complete biscuit aisle too. Sat on the sofa flanking one of the boyfriend's du jour, they asked him between muffled giggles: "How old do you think Mum is?"

A tense silence descended as the boyfriend pondered which way to go, probably thinking out of the door and all the way home without stopping was the best one. He babbled and squirmed and wriggled a bit. The demonic pair that I spawned giggled and giggled and giggled a bit more urging him to guess. I pretended to ignore them from the kitchen.

"She's 46, aren't you Mum," they yelled joyously. "Mum, you're 46."

Yes, loudly announcing my age to all and sundry is their latest thrill. Family members, visitors, schoolfriends, passing strangers, all are apprised that I am, if not exactly over the hill, heading towards the summit with the speed of a gazelle if not the dexterity. Apparently this is both hugely amusing and equally as entertaining. Personally I fail to see the joke.

I'm hoping it's a phase they are going through. I suspect it isn't. Perhaps when I'm 86 I won't feel quite so wounded. Though I suspect I will.

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