I think it’s fair to say there’s a bit of a shitstorm brewing in our happy home right now.
And look, I’m probably to blame. I thought the unthinkable. Then I said it out loud, to my husband, as he was deep (and somewhat appropriately) in an episode of Bloodline.
“I think (let’s call her Violet, because she is being pretty vile at the moment) should start paying rent next year.”
Oh. My. God.
His face. I might as well have said I was booking her in for a three-week immersion in an ice den.
Here’s the deal: she’s 17 and about to do her HSC. She doesn’t have a clue what she wants to do when she finishes school. But I have a very strong suspicion that whatever is, it features living with us, blissfully free of those pesky costs that, you know, allow you to actually survive. Like food. Or in her case, her phone, which now sits firmly in the column headed ‘Things covered by mum and dad’.
And here’s the real bitch – I think her dad might see things the same way. Because if she has to tip into the family coffers it might mean **HORRORS** she’s actually growing up.
He is appalled by my “tightarse-ness”.
Have I forgotten our teen is a Very Precious Angel?
“Teens” and “rent” are like combining “toothpaste” and “chardy”. Or “vodka” and “good decisions” (which might have been what led to my lapse of judgement in using the R-word in the first place).
Anyway, they apparently don’t mix. Not if you’re a caring parent. Not if you want your darling to EVER recover from the stress of doing the HSC, or – something much more top of mind – schoolies. Not if you can remember the good old days and all the things your parents did for you (which, it’s true, did not include paying rent).