The Puberty has well and truly descended upon our household.
It has, inevitably, been accompanied by moodiness, surliness, smartarsedness, a second child who has achieved that ever so fabulous milestone of giving me the finger every time I attempt to take a photo of him (you won’t find that little gem in the Book of Expectations! But you can damn well expect it), the need to purchase bigger clothes, and an inextractable connection to electronic devices.
A smell, that can only be adequately explained as Teenage Boy, for there are no other words, emotions, or actions that can convey it more appropriately has wafted in with it; as though The Puberty left the door open when it entered, and was followed in by Teenage Boy Smell.
Actually, now I think about it, it’s more like The Puberty slammed the door open, trashed its way in, and did a massively loud and toxic fart that has permeated the very walls, furniture fabric, and my nostrils.
(I’m fairly sure I have made reference to this particular Smell before, along with some very sound warnings in relation to it.)
The Smell, although never really gone, and oft replaced with an equally horrendous smell in the form of Lynx (thankfully only one of them has acquired a desire for this particular scent) we have it mostly under control. It’s manageable and tolerable, and oft requires the opening of every single window, door, and skylight in the house.
More persistent and pervasive, however, is the appearance of public hair hair, sprouting up in all manner of places.
The toilet bowl rim appears to be the favourite place for them to hang out. This is, of course, not a new phenomena. Pubic hairs have loitered around the porceline surface since the dawn of Toilet Bowl Time.
It was a little disturbing, however, when I reached down to fix my shoes as I stood on the train platform awaiting my transport to the office and discovered a hair of the course, curly kind protruding from my sheer, nude-coloured panty hose.
Given we all have the same colouring (as in, generally, I haven’t checked everyone’s nether regions to confirm my theory) it is difficult to ascertain precisely who it belonged to so that I could return it to them.
Also … euwww!
I’m just glad I captured the little bugger when I did, and didn’t try to be all busy and important looking like my bikini line had slipped down to my shin.