Youngest’s plan puts my nose out of joint
You think everyone’s ticking along nicely, ease up on the surveillance, become complacent and that’s when it happens. There we were celebrating Youngest’s milestone birthday, she seemed happy with her haul, she asked for cash for clothes from me, and beauty stuff from the boys (weirdy sponges for slap and a whole spectrum of eye-sizzling shadows), didn’t want a party “just cake with you lot and going out with my friends”. So, apart from the boys eating her entire Colin the Caterpillar cake – I told them, “Not the face! Save her the face!” – but she took it OK, and the whole thing passed off rather well.
Until, a text arrives two days after when I’m at work, simultaneously sent to Other Parent.
It says: “I’ve gotten my nose pierced (at which I emit a sound like the sucking back of the sea before a tsunami).
“I know neither of you wanted me to but I’m old enough to have gotten it on my own and I’ve paid for it myself (that’ll be where my cash went) and also I have really wanted to get this for a while and it’s a piercing that if I want to I can hide by flipping it up for job interviews.”
I’m still gasping when Other Parent’s response appears: a thumbs up, big green tick and a wave.
“How wonderful,” I force myself to text back, “bet it looks amazing.”
Might as well be positive but I can’t help throwing in “Did you get a green one?”
“I don’t know if you’re being sarcastic,” she says. “Just the usual silver.”
“Just kidding, xxx” I text and leave it there. Her poor wee septum. Sigh.
Could have been worse though, could have been a tattoo. Oh.
I immediately check the law in Scotland. The Tattooing of Minors act 1969 – you have to be 18, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.
So, next time I’ll be ready. Her 18th birthday?
Oh, she’d like cash “for clothes” would she? Certainly, how lovely – she’ll be getting vouchers.