Good talk, Son...

We recently acquired a ridiculously snug pre-loved couch. It has been broken-in and worn-soft by friends who, sadly, could no longer accommodate it. The possibility of said-couch ending its days waiting dejectedly by the gutter for the hard-rubbish collection was too horrendous to contemplate, so we lugged it and its two comfy-chair buddies down to The Rock where they seem to be enjoying a whole new batch of bums on seats.

Yesterday, Manchild was lying full-stretch on the new old couch while I sat ensconced in Comfy-Chair B with my knitting. The footy was on the tv. Manchild and I support the same team, and although this has been a disastrous season, we remain blindly hopeful that one day soon they will rack up a win. With yesterday’s opponents being almost as hapless as our lot of late, we both harboured a tiny optimistic flicker that this just might be the day.

Manchild had been out late Saturday night. He’d stayed at a mate’s house after a big social event and the lure of the couch was far stronger than the pull of his desk. Even with final exams less than ten weeks away, that damn desk remains a pathetic weakling in any tug-of-war… food, sleep, music, computer games, sport on tv… they all win without even trying.  Anyway, he must have been extra-tired because not only was he lying down, but he was snuggled under a blanket. He looked particularly calm and just a teensy bit vulnerable. I could see the little boy he used to be hovering just under the surface. He was warm and settled and focussed on the football. So I did what all good mothers of almost-grown-up sons do.

I seized the opportunity to start a particularly annoying conversation, confident that he couldn’t be arsed getting up and walking away:

You looked so handsome last night. Did people tell you how great you looked?

Yep.

Lots and lots of people?

Yep

Male and female people?

Yep.

What about one special person? Is there one special person that makes your heart go pitter pat?

(Crickets)

 IS there? Is there someone special?

(Crickets)

A special girl? … or is it a special boy? Have you even decided that yet?

(Crickets… with the slightest suggestion of upturned corners of the mouth)

Aha… I saw that!  You are listening…So IS there?

Stop talking Mum.

As far as conversations go between Manchild and me, that was a pretty good one. 
No mention of food on his behalf or dirty washing on mine.

And our footy team did win.

Score!

Yesterday was a good day.