Teenagers are like Queensland, beautiful one day, a nightmare the next.
On Saturday my 14 year daughter glanced down at her floor-drobe. She had nothing to wear but clothes that were fashionable at breakfast time. All this while I turn into an aging cougar. Except that I am the anti-cougar, the tracksuit pants wearing tragedy in tired trainers, wishing I had some energy left over from mothering and working to desire a makeover.
This week teenage beast cleaned up her floor-drobe and turned into an interior design fascist. She wants me to be the queen of minimalism on a single mother budget. If her sisters place so much as a Barbie on the floor she screams.
She is also a control freak about the music we listen to at home. I mention the Bee Gees and she looked blank. I said,
“Back when dinosaurs roamed the earth there were three brothers who wore tight white pants and hair-drier-fluffy-wind-blown hair singing falsetto disco hits.”
“Shit mum, they sound Palaeolithic.” There is no one more hip than a teenager and no one who has ever suffered more.
So I dedicate this song to her. Whether you’re a mother or whether you’re a brother…..