I didn’t do it…

Last night, was like a scene out of a Simpson’s episode.

No…  The Squeeze did not come out in his y front undies, scratching his balls and eating pork chops.  Frankly, that would almost have been my preference!  Instead, he became a ridiculous ten year old surly brat and I, in my usual desire to issue truth and discipline, wanted to slap him.  The wooden spoon never looked so good.

The trouble started about the time I noticed some pretty severe dents in the plaster of the wall in the lounge.  It didn’t take a mental giant to work out what they were.  The kid grabs the Maton from the guitar stand and in a moment of rock star delusion;   plays.  It is usually some Sid Vicious type of thing - violent.  I cringe with the style but also, not being a player myself, I fear for the strings and wonder how they don't break.  When dream time is complete, he tosses it back to the corner with that last, lingering bit of rock star fueled testosterone - so that the tuning keys whack into the wall.  We are talking machine gun dents… All in a neat little row and severe enough to require filling.

So I mention to the Squeeze that I’m annoyed about the wall and maybe he can ask the kid to exercise a little bit of restraint while putting it back; a glimmer of care and consideration for other people’s property.  I mean considering I have to repair the damned wall.  And I mean who the hell does that without noticing…?

First I get “how do you know it is was him…  It could have been anyone… in true Bart Simpson he didn't do it...” fasion.

Yeah.  My kids can’t play the guitar.  Nor can I.  So scratch that.  the only two people who pick up that guitar are the Squeeze and the kid.

So then he adopts the Harridan technique of being the martyr.  It could have been him; or maybe he did some and the kid did some.  Whatever.  I mean, do I seriously look that stupid?  I have never seen the Squeeze pick up and use the Maton with anything other than reverence.  He loves that guitar.  He wouldn't toss it back to the stand haphazardly; not out of consideration for my wall, but out of love for his guitar.

So he becomes the ugly parent that can’t just admit that their kid has done something wrong.  And for what purpose?  In my mind, for a brief second, I thought of what my life would become if I stupidly agreed to the demands of the Moodle and the Harridan and this kid lived here full time.

I would never be right.  I would never win.  I would always be in the wrong.

Yeah.  How long does he thing that would last?