If there was a competition to figure out who was more mad, my parents or my kids, it would be a close call. Just look at the statements and questions I've had to brilliantly defend myself against in the last few days:
"Can we bring a book?" (you know the history here)
"This is the night you were made" - My Mum told me this "euuughr" inducing bit of information when I rang to wish the 'rents a happy anniversary last week. There are some things that I just do not want to know.
"Have you got a lead with a banana plug at one end and a Jack plug on the other?" asked my Dad. There was only one reasonable reply, which I gave
"What do you think I am, a greengrocer?"
"What's a blog?" asked my maternal unit.
"So what's Facebook then?" she followed it up with.
"And then what's Twitter?" she followed that up with.
I answered with patience and just the right amount of condescension, knowing full well that she'll have forgotten the answers before most of the world had updated their Twitter status anyway.
"I'm going to report you to social services" - said K when I refused to let her eat my Magnum Chocolate Indulgence ice lolly, after she has already eaten her one.
Later that evening, after I'd dropped the girls home I settled myself to eat aforementioned Magnum bar. It was an "advert" moment. Me, the Magnum, the river outside and the sun setting as I unwound and mellowed.
Only I dropped the fucking thing and the chocolate smashed into smithereens, lots of them. K, on hearing about this the next day, thought it was funny.
Parents and kids eh.
I'm glad I'm not one.