Tuesday, 15 November 2011

Playing The Game

THERE are not many pleasures in being a mother to teenagers and not just because there's always the possibility they might turn into binge-drinking, knicker-flashing, knife-carrying, crack-addicted student-protesters the minute you have a lapse in concentration.

Thankfully my teenagers have not yet graced the pages of the Daily Mail, but they are still teenagers .. opinionated, hormonal, argumentative, rebellious, angry and resentful by turn. Occasional flashes of wit, smiles and niceness are generally accompanied by a request for money or chocolate or the moon.

But you take your pleasures where you find them and the BEST thing about having teenagers is playing The Game of Embarrassment.

Obviously if the object of the game was simply to embarrass your teenager there wouldn't be much sport. All you need to do is slap on a DVD with guaranteed sex scenes, graphic drug use or a birth - the latter, of course, with a retelling of your own birth experiences, and your teenager will fire up faster than an Audi Quattro.

The Game of Embarrassment though is a game of two halves.. adult versus teen, age versus experience. It can be played anywhere, at any time and there are not many rules. Though obviously from either side's point of view the most public arena is obviously the best adding, as it does, to a higher embarrassment quotient.

I WAS the Chief Queen of Embarrassing Mothers Par Excellence after cracking Level 6: "Getting Your Teenager's Form Teacher to Flirt With You" *Bows* But the fight-back has already begun....

As I sat on the bus next to the teen boy with the bad teen hair, the improbable piercings, the even more improbable trousers, I received a text. A text from Teen Twin 1 who, on the busy bus, had found another perch:
"Guy next to you," it said, "You luuurve him."
I gurgled, I panicked and I wondered if he had seen the text. I was had.. hook, line, sinker, plunger and bath-plug.

Level 7: Game On....

Game on in scrabble letters

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