Sleepover©
By
Michael Casey
Sleepover is exactly that, your sleep is over, you
have laughing kids invading your house, and driving you out of your minds. Well
not always, but it is very distracting. You can’t remember what you were doing
and where has that file gone on the computer. This is the 2nd time I’m
telling this story, why, because my Word, or upon my word, the story died or
rather Word did not close properly, so now you’re getting something different.
Total strangers, or strangers to you arrive at the
house and kind of invade it for a night. You do shout up the stairs, keep them
out of my room. Not because you have anything worth stealing, but they are
stealing your privacy, and that’s all you have left if you have daughters in
your house.
Then the smell of nail varnish drifts down the
stairs and permeates everywhere, its worse than mustard gas from the Great War.
You scream up the stairs, open all the windows fully, what about your room,
dad? Especially mine.
Its then that your inner sanctum is breached as
they bring their friends to help them open the window. They see the Teddy Bear
that you’ve had since you were 6 years old, the invader laughs. She also sees
the deep heat by your bed, And he complains about nail varnish.
Dinner time arrives and you have to feed the
cuckoo, only she doesn’t eat this or she doesn’t eat that, on principle. So you
say, you’ll have to stave then. Your daughter, the host, is horrified, so you
relent and flick a pound coin at them, cholesterol free oil used to make the
chips. So a compromise is achieved.
You put Sky Sports on to watch the match, they say
Qatar is going to build underground stadia, novel idea. You are settling down
to see Rooney when they arrive back chip laden. Her friend just loves the
ballet and Sky Arts has Bolshoi on, so could they please please watch that. You
say you’ll record it for them. But you are as bad as a puppy murderer even for
suggesting it.
So being a nice dad you let them watch the ballet
on your 46inch tv, while you retreat to watch the match on the laptop upstairs.
They never tell you about this at parenting classes, just how to change
nappies. Let’s hope William and Kate are told.
After the ballet they retreat upstairs for girlie
music, and what were you doing in their room on the laptop. Didn’t you know you
are just a dad not allowed in the inner sanctum. The Hits is switched on their dab radio at volume 13, you retreat to
watch the after match talk on the big screen.
Later its bath time, so you have to wait 2 hours
for all the girls in your house, including the cuckoo, to pollute the bathroom
before you a mere dad, and bill payer, can have a shave. Only your last razor has
been used to save somebody’s legs.
So everybody goes to bed, all is well, holding
your teddy bear, you sleep soundly. Until 3am, when a banshee screaming wakes
you, your wife and all the neighbours. It’s the cuckoo, she’s having a
nightmare, it must be the chips, and the cholesterol free oil from them. Or
half waking up and forgetting where she was.
So remembering to put on your dressing gown you
have to calm everybody down, and answer the door, to the police, as the
neighbour from neighbourhood watch has rung them. So the police come in and
have a look. Flatulence is written down in the Police note book. As you let the
police out the house again your smallest daughter hands you your teddy bear,
its ok dad, it’s only a sleepover.
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