There they were, the teenager and the quinquagenarian, blathering away whilst they did the dishes together, harmoniously.
No, not really.
Well, they were both blathering, and they were both doing the dishes; one washing, one drying. It didn’t sound terribly harmonious, however. Not angry, either, just it wasn’t all peace, love and daisies.
One was being all teeangery and loquacious and the other being all old and grumpy. And old.
Blah blah, blahdy blah blah blah, is what I heard for the most part.
Then, it started getting a little vocal. The grumpiness of the old and grumpy one seemed to go up a notch, along with a considerable dose of sarcasm.
The younger one started yelling “No! Stop! STOP IT!” albeit with much humour.
My mothering, protective instincts kicked in and I went to see what was happening and how I could protect my offspring. Or, maybe I just wanted to join in the fun. I’m not really sure which, but we’ll go with Mothering Instincts as it makes me sound like a much better mother.
Monkey Boy (the teenager) had been blathering on in teen-speak and abbreviating everything and saying