Am I alone in my grieving for the early childhood of my daughter? I look back to those pink and white glory days with nostalgia, dreaming of when she sat before a collection of dolls or plastic ponies, combing manes and tails and humming a tune from the latest Little Kitty movie.
Her bedroom was swathed in cotton candy pink tulle, large bows everywhere; a collection of powder puffs bright patches of color in the sunlight filtering through chiffon drapes. Where has that darling little girl gone?
She seems to have disappeared and been replaced by a delinquent demon in black holey tights, sporting a skull and crossbones pendant and wearing a collection of perpetual accessories; earphones and mobile phones. Every few days or so she reappears, glossy hair nudging against my cheek, usually just before the head disappears again, into the refrigerator.
There was never a bedroom like my daughters bedroom. She has collected the worst objects in the house and arranged them around her room to make it look as ugly as possible. Somewhere under an untidy mountain of laundry there is a bright blue rug with cream flowers. Somewhere in her wardrobe there is a clean item of clothing, but not on a hanger.
Shoes have been deemed by her as strange things only worn by pretentious people trying to be something they are not, apparently. Trainers are worn by normal human beings, especially worn out trainers bearing the stains of unidentified substances trodden through during several rock concerts.
Blonde hair has been color washed with a shade somewhere between purple and magenta, with luminous qualities in direct sunlight for some reason I prefer not to investigate. The friends of her bosom seem to reflect her own strange cult fashion sense, one young man actually has his ears not pierced but almost torpedoed by these curious bolt like things, which stretch the lobes, making the pierced cavity at least half an inch in diameter and causing onlookers to cringe away in horror.
A few nights ago she appeared in the kitchen wearing a long black coat which reached to the floor, fishnet tights, a black mini skirt with silver studs down the side, a black peasant blouse and black nail polish. She wanted to know what she should wear to a black witch themed birthday party. She was not actually in costume as yet! I suggested she put on a black frilly ankle length petticoat over boots and add silver jewelry. She refused on grounds of my ideas not being feminine enough!
Teenagers reach the age of thirteen with a disorder firmly set in place called ETP - Exact Teenage Programming. This condition is easy to overcome providing you observe the following guidelines.
When you want your teenager to bring used cups, glasses and plates from out of his/her room to the kitchen, remember to add 'And put them in the dishwasher.' On no account risk an instruction such as 'Bring them upstairs,' as I did one afternoon and then was surprised to find a collection of dirty dishes on the top step.
Other wonderful phrases such as 'can you put some washing in please darling' should be qualified with 'preferably a selection of everybody's, not just your own.'
'Can you take the garbage out?' must be the best of all. There are so many points of abandonment between the kitchen and the trash can. Be specific.
Teenagers are incapable of throwing an empty carton in the bin, but will walk a further distance to return the empty carton to the fridge, can you explain that? Always decant cartons when only half empty, that way you will avoid hearing the husband roar when he helps himself to a drained carton of juice.
Loo rolls are carefully removed from their wall mounted holders in bathrooms and rolled across the bathroom floor so they unravel around the room like some sort of sanitary festoon. I have now purchased one of those Poor Man Dispensers that ration three sheets at a time and lock against further unraveling. They have them in prisons, mental institutions and our house.
I wait patiently for the dark one to progress out of the black teenage stage into the light of adulthood and femininity. Sooner or later my little girl is going to come home again and when she does I shall be waiting.
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