You know, I've decided all I want for my next birthday is a polygraph machine. What a gift from the Gods that would be, eh? Think of all the fruitless banter it will save:-
Me: "Are these your dirty knickers I found lying in my bathroom?
Beccy: "Nah, they're Abby's."
So much easier to just cut to the chase. Hook 'em up and zap 'em, that's what I say. Can you imagine?
"Were you really abducted by aliens?"
"Was it you who told your brothers girlfriend he has Herpes?"
"Who wrecked the kitchen again?"
"Do you have any other websites I should know about?"
"Who scoffed all the biscuits?"
"What happened to my favourite vase?"
"Have you been drinking?"
"What's the REAL story behind this detention..?"
"Is it true that dirty mag was planted under your bed without your prior knowledge and consent?"
"Did you tell your sister she is adopted and was a crack baby?"
Oh, the possibilities are endless! In fact, the more I think about it, I think perhaps the government should step up here, provide one free of charge per household! Now that's what I call supporting responsible parenting, eh?
We might even bring out an alternative version, one that delivers a wee, small electrical charge for when the needle strays over to "deceptive" (okay, only for those persistent offenders, let's not be entirely heartless).
(I wonder if you can buy these things on-line..?)
With four teenagers living under my roof, it does occur to me there is much you should be told WAAAY before you get pregnant. It's with the benefit of this experience I would like to pass on a few golden nuggets to any of you wide-eyed, prospective parents out here..
It is worth considering:
Babies grow hair and teeth. The first may require frequent nit lotion application, the latter expensive dental work.
Seventeen years after giving birth, driving lessons currently pan out at around £30 per lesson, and even then that's only if you book them in bulk. (Be sure to budget in a projected inflation here.) Your little darling will naturally expect either a Lotus or a Porch as reward for passing said test. (Emphasis upon expect, resultant tears may follow.)
Homework begins at age four. Contrary to popular belief this is set for the parent, not the child, and is obliged to be turned in, preferably correct as well as on time, throughout the entire duration of his/her education.
Upon reaching the magical age of 16, although legally able to work, demanding your cherub seek outside employment at this stage will undoubtedly ruin their entire future, distracting them as it will from any critical study period and essential social activity.
As a teenager, Your child will divide and multiply, creating several life size clones to further feed and house.
That sweet little nursery you plant the offspring in warps over time, necessitating frequent fumigation.
Baby-grows do not stretch to 6ft.
First words lead on to more, usually regrettable.
No parent ever "does" it, because it's "disgusting" and you are far too old to remember "it" anyway. (In actual fact, this isn't too far from the truth, it's hard to maintain an enthusiastic sex-life when you are always half-expecting someone to burst in on you both, with demands of either cash, food, rides or an immediate clean turn-around of their favourite shirt.)
Okay I'll stop, let's forget the daily nutritious meals you're duty bound to serve, in-between their snacking at MacDonald's en-route home, and we won't mention having to constantly figure out the latest Bebo site your child is currently posting their indecent pictures at.
There are rewards. One day (hopefully planned) you may become a grandparent. This is when your child will step back in wonder, and appreciate how brilliantly you managed to cope with them down the years. So much so, you will definitely be trusted to sit for their own little darlings.
(Well, having finally landed themselves that fabulous job that you always wanted them to get, it's only but fair you'll then allow them to keep it, huh?)
Ah yes, parenthood, what a delightful mixed-blessing it brings!