A few weeks ago Dude strolled into the kitchen with severe boxer face. Most teenagers hate waking up and they tend to resemble Grumpy more than they do Happy. It takes them a while to regain their personality. Like it’s our fault the sun was shining. But boxer face is something we never see. Both his eyes was swollen shut and he was rubbing them profusely. He looked like he lost a fight with a speeding train.
We did what most loving parents would do, we laughed. I know, we’re suppose to provide comfort and sympathy, which we did, once we stopped laughing. There are many reasons why a person’s eyes might disappear beneath excessive swelling but we didn’t have time to Google it, besides you never know what hormones are capable of. We opted for him to stay home and planned to book a doctor’s appointment later that day. He didn’t complain. I don’t think he was in the mood for the inevitable ridicule that was going to happen if his mates saw him like that. He was quite happy to stay home and spend some time on his PlayStation; until he realize that one requires vision if you want to play effectively.
I checked back later that morning to confirm the time for the appointment, only to be informed that the swelling was gone. I suspect it was a mild allergic reaction to work, as I did ask him to empty the garbage bin the night before.
The Wife fuzzed a little more when she got home, but it was evident that his eyes returned to their normal size. We continued our streak as loving parents and loaded the family in our SUV and went for dinner. There was laughter and chatter for the first few minutes but whilst waiting on our food, Dude’s swelling returned. Not to his eyes, it settled on his upper lip. Dude was turning into an episode of “Botched” right in front of our eyes. We were concerned about a lip-explosion which would certainly ruin my steak.
Dude’s lip turned into a fifth member at our table, but fortunately he had an empty seat next to him, ample space to grow. It was amazing to see. We stopped eating and Dude, oblivious to his growing lip, kept on talking. Flapping that big ball beneath his nose, instead of just keeping a stiff upper lip.
Eventually Princess couldn’t take it anymore and she exclaimed: “Hey, what’s wrong with your lip?” And this was the opportunity we were waiting for. Dude touched his lip gently, looked confused, which opened the floodgates for puns and jokes. They were flying like rice at a wedding.
We told him not to sulk and pull up a lip. I suggested a wheel barrow, so he doesn’t have to drag it behind him. Princess told him that he should finish his meals by taking lip fulls. It’s bigger than the mouth variety. Dude took all of this in his stride, but eventually eloped to the bathroom to evaluate the damage of the growing lip for himself. He returned to our table with wide eyes and a hand covering his mouth. It wasn’t big enough to cover the lip too.
He looked shocked and said with a little desperation: “I look like Bart Simpson. We got to get out here, now. Pleaaassse.”
And you know what, he actually did resemble a resident of Springfield with those wide eyes and that. Big. Fat. Lip. We told him our lips are sealed and no-one will know about the incident. I lied. We finished dinner, settled the bill and the last thing the waiter saw, was my family laughing uncontrollably as we tried to find our way back to the car.
In the end I suspect it was just a feeble attempt to get out of the One Direction concert we were forcing Dude to attend.
But…A citizen of Springfield…It’s still funny.