Folks, I must humbly apologise for such a lengthy absence, for I have been to a place where only despair and desolation resides. A place where the mournful wails of the forlorn and the forgotten crash dejectedly upon disheartened ears, drowning me in a morass of melancholia and burdening my heavy heart. I had sought to break free from such bleakness, such untold desperation, but the path ahead proved to be long and ever winding. Eventually, after a long and arduous journey, I spied the brightness of a yellow glow that would hasten me on my way to blessed freedom. And thus, I was able to find the exit to IKEA and to finally return home in time for ‘The Voice.’.
So, on to today’s slice of real life drama. Now as some you may know, Spawn has what the professionals like to term as
a wonky brain high functioning autism (aspergers) and so is often viewed by some as being a little bit of a bastard eccentric. To say that his view of social norms is slightly different to that of everyday people would be a huge understatement. So in order for him to be able to make sense of the world, he regularly sees a therapist.
The waiting room. Is there anywhere as forlorn and as desolate as a waiting room? It is a place designed for many but in which few wish to attend. Where the seats are adjacent to their neighbour but where only the minimalist of contact is made. Eyes avert whilst sitting in a waiting room and everything from the crack in the ceiling to the stains on the carpet, becomes increasingly more interesting then those that inhabit it’s bleakness. The walls once an egg shell white, are now a colour no longer identifiable on the Dulux colour chart and the tables groan beneath the weight of tired magazines, where men still sport mullets and women burst with joy at the prospect of of using products that will keep their Lady Gardens smelling like an autumn’s breeze. And here we were, Spawn and I in one such place. The receptionist behind the desk, was reminiscent of one whose face had concaved in upon itself and was still in a state of trying to expand outwards back to normality, whilst all around us, a deathly silence reigned. So, this was probably not the best conversation to have with one’s child, whilst sitting in the waiting room of a children’s family therapist office.
“Ooh, you know those new Always panty pads that I purchased last week? Did you know that they’re actually perfumed?”
“If I pretend that I’m actually listening to your witless chattering whilst really, I’m slowly dying inside, will you stop talking?”
Now lets us take a minute to pause and to note that most ‘normal’ teenage boys with a moderately functioning cranium and when presented with the topic of feminine hygiene products, would have probably responded with one of the following:
“Eww, you’re not seriously going to talk to me about feminine hygiene products are you?”
“It’s a good thing that I’m in the right place for such a traumatic event. I wish I was dead.”
“No wonder dad left you.”
But oh no, not my Spawn. Like an intrepid hunter who knows better than to look into the eyes of a wild beast, he chose to engage.
“Now why? Why would they do such a thing? Good god! What foul odour emits from the loins of women if someone sought to mask it’s reek?”
“Remember that time we went to Billingsgate fish market?”
“Anyway, I admit that it’s a ridiculous idea. As if somebody is going to place their face directly into a woman’s crotch and say, ‘Mmmm, I love the neutralizing odour of your acti-pearls’.”
“God help the poor man who would even attempt to do such a thing despite the crazy shining in your eyes. You’d probably hold his face firmly in place and then announce that because he sniffed at your acti-pearls, you are to be married forthwith”.
“Hey, if someone is going to sniff my acti-pearls,then they’d better damn well buy me dinner first. So…do you want to sniff my acti-pearls?”
“I’m not marrying you.”
“I’ve got one in my bag. Go on, have a sniff.”
“Mother, I do not wish to sniff your haemoglobin absorbing material.”
“Go on, take a little whiff. It’s got quite a pleasant odour. That’ll be the acti-pearls.
“Again and I say this quite forcibly, I do not wish to inhale the aroma of your vital fluid catcher!”
“JUST SMELL MY BLOODY SANITARY TOWEL!!”
“Well I’ve suffered through worse atrocities in my short life, like seeing you naked so I’m surmising that sniffing your crotch lining, isn’t going to seem out of the ordinary.” (takes a sniff of the pad with it’s neutralizing odour) “Actually, that’s quite pleasant.”
“Do you think so? I’m not that keen on it. It kinda has a sweet smell to it and I prefer a more musky scent.”
“I doubt very much mother, that musky is the kind of smell a women wants to exude when she is on her period. Wait, you’re going to write about this in your blog aren’t you?”
*Actually folks, Spawn has been ill and I’m still trying to get to grips with my father passing. But I’m back and hoping to catch up on all the wonderful blogs that I’ve missed.