A Talking To

After the behaviour both of us displayed on Sunday evening, I alerted Monkey Boy to the fact that we needed to “have a talk”.

Neither of us behaved in an acceptable manner and I declared that things must be resolved. This cannot happen again.

“Nooooo,” he says, putting his hands over his eyes (one of which flashed its trademark, cheeky glint).

It had to happen, and no amount of being lovely and apologising was going to prevent it from happening.

After we avoided it for as long as possible, I found a moment to lie down with him to work out what was going on and what could be done about excessive, obnoxious behaviour.

He wriggled and squirmed and I said “Look, I know you hate these talks, but it wasn’t okay for either of us to do what we did and we need to sort it out.”

He replied, rather concisely, I thought.

“I don’t like them. You just say all this stuff and I know you’re trying to me nice and sensible, but it’s boring.

“Then I stop listening.

“Then you make me agree to stuff that I haven’t listened to.

“Then you get angry at me because I do something that I told you I wouldn’t do again, but I can’t remember what it was because I wasn’t listening when you made me agree to it.”


I’m glad we have that cleared up.



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