
Ladies and Gentlemen. I have been officially cancelled. By my teenagers.
Apparently, I don’t know what it’s like to be a teenager.
I had thought, seeing as I am pushing 40, it would be obvious to them, that I have actually been one.
How else would one make it all the way to wrinkles and chin hairs without first being prepubescent?
Watch: Parents of teenagers, translated. Post continues below.
I was young and hot not that long ago, I hasten to add! No, I didn’t Tik or Tok, nor did I Snap or Chat. And no, The Wiggles equivalent of my time were most certainly not woke.
My lack of "in the real world" experience in the teen sphere is a crime to my offspring.
It is met with an automatic shutting down of the hearing function. Punishable by eye roll. Or sigh. Or a terrifying combination of the former combined with the potent drop kick of a passive aggressive quip. And finished off by a strut down the hall, and a slamming of the bedroom door. Noted. I am not cool and my opinion is invalid.
In my defence, your honour, back then the internet was barely a thing. And you couldn’t get on it if someone was using the landline. Which they always were.
Sitting in a little corner, a phone nestled on top of a table, connected to the wall via curly cable, a thick and heavy paper phone book close by in case you needed to look up a friend’s number, or address!