Lately my writing time has been soaked up by a lot of other
shi stuff in my life. It’s not the best excuse but it’s the one I’m using. I really wish I had more time to write because it’s the one thing that prevents me from kicking random strangers and/or colleagues. The other thing is coffee. Lots and lots of coffee. I’ve had more than one anxiety attack lately because my life has been hectic. Just last week I was googling my symptoms on WebMD and I was either having a mini-stroke or just very hungry.
I have two kids. *The crowd goes silence in suspense* These kids are getting older by the minute. *The audience gasps at another shocking revelation*. They will be leaving the house soon. *Audience members are leaving as the suspense is becoming too much to bear*
This reality scares me shitless. (And for clarification, it’s not the audience leaving part, it’s the kids leaving part.) I cannot fathom living in my house without both of them complaining about the speed of the Wi-Fi. The reality is getting way too close for comfort, as Dude is now in his final year of high school.
A few weeks ago I was handed a crumpled form, dug out from the trenches of Dude’s bag, moments before we had to leave for school. (Certain things never change.) It was the registration form for his senior certificate exam i.e. high school diploma for those of my friends who speak American. He casually informed me that this specific form had to be submitted on that specific day, otherwise he won’t be able to write his matric. (Writing matric is the South African way of saying someone graduates from high school.) Pay attention.
Standing with the form in my hands, I asked him what would happen if he didn’t submit this specific form on that day, to which he replied, “I probably would have to stay here for another year.”
And that woke the devil on my shoulder.
I have been dealt a trump card. Back in the day that used to mean something. A trump card used to be considered a valuable resource that may be used, especially as a surprise, in order to gain an advantage, as per English dictionary. Now any reference to trump-anything brings forth images and words that you probably won’t find in any decent DIC-tionary. See what I did there? I’m that good.
Back to the issue at hand.
Not signing the form provides me with an opportunity to make Dude stay for another year under the roof of yours truly. And I know it would be easy because I posses the two things that would sustain the life force of a teenage boy and that is food and Wi-fi.
My devil woke with so much noise, he shattered the silence and pieces flew across my head, falling on the head of my angel, who was napping on my other shoulder. He woke up with a yawn.
I’m offering a brief narration of the discussion that occurred between the two.
Angel: WTF? Do you mind dickhead? I was sleeping here.
Devil: I don’t care! This is worth a party. Where’s the damn wine? Ah man, no we have to go to work. Maybe if we took some shooters.
Angel: Are you crazy? We can’t do that. Remember the last time we did something so irresponsible? Besides what can be so exciting? It’s a Monday.
Devil: Did you not hear! You’ll end up sleeping through your own death. We have an opportunity to keep Dude in the house for one more year.
Angel: Oh no, did he fail his Science paper again?
Devil: No man. And more importantly what do you mean again?
Angel: Never mind.
Devil: If we don’t sign this form then Dude can’t write his final exam and then he won’t get his diploma and then he won’t be able go to university. He’ll have to stay here. For one whole year!
Angel: That would be really unfair. The poor boy has been working very hard over the last couple of months and I think he deserves an opportunity to spread his wings.
Devil: I don’t agree. The kid is extremely spoiled and he is totally dependent on us. He can’t even prepare a proper meal for himself and would you really want a starving kid on your conscious? And have you seen his room? It’s a safety bio-hazard. I seriously think we should consider an additional year of parenting.
Angel: That is bull shit and you know it. It’s selfish because you’re not taking his feelings into consideration, so just sign the damn form. I don’t remember us being very independent when we went off to college.
Devil: It was a different time and we were…
Angel: Just. Sign. The. Damn. Form. Or I’m calling Wife.
Angel: I’m not kidding.
Devil: *still sulking
Angel: *crossing arms
Wife: Are you going to sign that form or are just going to stand there for the rest of the day?
I signed the form. Besides it was three against two. An unfair fight.