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Tuesday, April 16, 2013

Pinky's week can only get better.


Monday 3:30pm- notice phone call from teenage son Padraic’s school… what the hell now? He’s not in trouble again is he? If he’s done something wrong and has been banned from going on school camp tomorrow after I’ve already paid the $300 I’ll bloody kill the little sh#t.

3:35- ring school back, no-one knows who tried to contact me. I ponder the possibilities.

4:00- arrive home to find Padraic sprawled on couch in boxer shorts. He seemingly has no knowledge of why school wants to talk to me. I’m still suspicious.

6:00- Teacher calls me. She is in unhappy state about Padraic’s insolent behaviour at school that day. I promise to deal with him.

6:05- I heatedly berate Padraic and threaten lots of ‘consequences’. I tell him his friends who are supposed to be staying over that night before they leave for school camp can’t come over any more. 

“Ring them!” I bawl, “You don’t deserve to have friends over. Here take my phone and ring them NOW and go away and get out of my face. I’m very disappointed in you!”

6:10- Padraic raises his voice making all excuses under sun, 

“The teacher’s a b#tch Mum. I didn’t do anything.” 

"Well I believe the teacher!" I answer emphatically.

Then, just as suddenly, Padraic retreats to sit quietly in his bedroom like an admonished lamb.

6:25- Padraic emerges from room and asks pleasantly if he can put on a load of washing for camp tomorrow. 

“Of course,” I answer in a reasonable tone, nudging husband in ribs in self-congratulatory manner.

6:26- “There,” I say to husband Scotto, “I showed the little sh#t. He must be feeling pretty remorseful right now. I know how to put him in his place.”

6:45- The doorbell rings. Padraic’s two buddies, Null and Void are standing at door with backpacks and sleeping bags. It swiftly dawns on me that the little sh#t didn’t ring them and now I am put on the spot. I can’t be rude to them and send them home and besides, their shrewd mothers have already made their escape with tyres loudly squealing down the street.

6:48- Padraic bounds down stairs and greets his buddies, flashing me a quick look conveying arrogance, insubordination and victory all rolled into one.

6:49- I look at Scotto. He looks at me.
6:55- Scotto hands me a glass of Chardonnay. 

“At least we’ll be rid of him for three days,” comments Scotto in an attempt to cheer me up. 

It will be worth the $300, I think dejectedly.