Elephants and I…

Tell me a lie and you had better remember exactly what you said – for the rest of your life...  Elephants and I never forget.

I may not be a Rhodes Scholar; but I do have a few super powers:

1.       I can sing a few bars of a song and have anyone… Anyone, walk off singing that song (which can be fun if you happen to sing something particularly daggy; ie: whip-crack-away from ‘Calamity Jane’.)
2.       I can name the actor that just walked on the screen and say what they were in – no matter how fleeting that walk on is or how different they look.
3.       I can remember every detail of the lie you told me when you forget as time passes; and mention it again.

Today is Melbourne Cup and therefore a public holiday.  The kid had yesterday and today off; the Harridan once again attempted to place him with us for a four day weekend while she was off doing whatever it is she does.  Actually, her idea was to place him for the weekend, the week following and the weekend after.

That a fifteen year old possesses not a single friend that he can go hang out with is, in a word, tragic.  He had yesterday off – not one friend.  Friday night he was with us.  Saturday, he didn’t go hang with friends; instead, he went to the country to go camping with mummy and her velvet wearing, red back packed dreadlocked hairy friends and family for her sister’s birthday party.  No wonder the kid was in bed by ten.

Sometimes I hate myself.  I hate that part of me that is as gooey as caramel in the centre of a chocolate.  Feeling sorry for him, I gave up one of my days and suggested we grab the kid today to go drop of resumes.  He came to the car with filthy clothes that looked like they’d been dragged from a pile on the floor.  His hair, although neat since we had it cut Friday night, was back to a stinking greasy mess that was making my eyes bleed.  Runners – shoe laces not done up and head bowed like he was off to the gallows.  No one is giving this kid a job.  If he didn’t get close enough for the putrid cloud to envelop them, then the drooping head would put them off.

It is frustrating to watch.

Afterwards, we went for lunch where the kid mentioned he had gone camping on Saturday night.  I dragged information out of him with a few questions.  At first I felt a glimmer of hope that he had actually gone some place fun; only to discover it was a party for the velvet wearing obnoxious sister, attended by her “I’ve had life… I just want to die…” selfish prick of a husband.

Instead, I focussed on one thing.   “Camping..?  Didn’t realise you had a tent…” 

Lying, thieving bitch in true parenting skill of a despot, once again instructed her children to be liars.

One day, it is my fervent wish, that her arsehole festers.