Remember how I used to complain about my teenagers relentlessly nagging me in an excruciatingly annoying, high whining voice simulating a Boeing 747 about to take off?
"When will dinner be ready?" they'd whinge. And how my stock answer was always, "Twenty minutes love!"
And how they'd come back an hour later and ask the same question and I'd reply, "Oh... about twenty minutes, sweetpea."
And how they'd always accept it without question.
They'd just sigh and walk away mumbling about how I loved my blog more than I loved them blah, blah-de-bloody-blah.
Well those teenagers aren't around anymore. Now they're 'independently financial' and have their own wheels, they're off in 'fast food land' with all their mates.
It's like living with the Phantom. I see a flash of a fluorescent tradie shirt as the front door is slammed, shaking the house to its core, or sometimes a spectre of grubby gym bag flashing past me in the hall, or I sense a whiff of Brittany Spears' perfume as I meander past the bathroom...but other than that, it's as if they don't exist.
But before you imagine my life is blissfully peaceful take a look at this.
This is what I have to contend with at 6:00pm every night and believe me... these guys can tell the time!
