The standard morning Repeat Everything Till Point of Impending Head Explosion, with the added Why The Hell Are You Playing LEGO Instead Of Putting Your Shoes On? and What The Fu … Why Are You Stuffing Your Brother In a Box, Get Your Bloody Lunchbox!
You know. Just to break up the monotony.
“You just don’t understand the concept of tenyear old boys,” my ten year old boy informs me.
He’s right. I don’t. Despite having had two years in my childhood shared with two different ten year old boys in the house, and having spent a good year or three between the ages of 9 and 11 in the various company of ten year old boys, no, I don’t understand the concept of them.
My lack of penisage may have something to do with it. Possibly, also, that I can’t for the life of me comprehend such insane behaviour as, say, walking the 1km home from school with a box on your head, or finding something enjoyable about Star Wars. I just don’t get it.
Just like I can’t comprehend nits in general, nor the insatiable desire for toddlers to have kicking, screaming tantrums in such places as crowded supermarket isles, where no one in a 100km radius would find it even remotely compelling.
Funny, yes, granted, if it is happening to someone else, but compelling? No. Not in the slightest.
I do like to think I understand 10 year old boys to some degree, but he’s right, some of their behaviours are just beyond comprehension, and I really don’t understand the concept of them at all.
If anyone can shed some light on the concept of smartarse, smelly, selfish beings with a penchant for climbing anything in the vicinity and random, yet serious deficits in any kind of rational, sensible or any kind of thought at all, I’d be happy to hear it.