Pink Flamingos

8am Christmas morning and a song about hard sex and an iphone is blaring out of a speaker in the depths of a teenager’s bedroom.

“I’m sure the neighbours would rather hear Slade or the King’s choir” I yelled over the din. “That’s not appropriate.”

“It’s only a song,” one of the teenagers yelled back, sauntering out of her room, singing the lyrics – just in case I hadn’t quite heard them correctly the first time.

Some people start the big day off with tea in bed and a croissant. Others with smoked salmon and bucks fizz. My Christmas morning started with a sex-fuelled beat, ringing in my ears. Hello Christmas with teenagers.

They still want stockings, only now they are teenagers I am sent e mails with a whole list of links to random objects: a waterproof speaker for the shower, foundation, after shave balm – for a girl, (apparently it makes a good primer – whatever that is) and make up brushes – lots and lots of make up brushes. Unfortunately, half the things came from China and so didn’t arrive. In January we are going to be inundated with Christmas gifts. I’m going to pencil in another Christmas in the new year, just to accommodate them. They did partner and I a stocking each too – a sweet thought. However, whereas their stockings contained really useful items, ours contained: a toothpaste dispenser that causes the toothpaste to spew out everywhere in a gunky mess and ear phones for someone who has two left ears – two items from China that did, sadly, arrive. We also got chocolate and body butter. I can still remember the hedonistic days when both those would have been used in sex. Now they are added to the pile. *

We headed off to my sister’s to spend the afternoon, as it happened, having a smashing time: 6 large plates worth £120, a crystal glass and a beer bottle. My sister and husband remained calm throughout, although I suspect they may well need therapy come January.  This was the oldies causing carnage, the teenagers behaved impeccably: supping on their Blossom Hill Rosé with restraint that I doubt they will show at their New Year’s Eve parties. Whenever I opened my mouth, apparently I embarrassed them, which I think was a little harsh, as they spent the day in flamingo slippers.

I insisted on a family photo in front of the Christmas tree, as it just never happens. Every photo is more highly scruitinised than CCTV after a robbery and by the time any photo has been examined by 4 teenagers, it rarely gets approved for social media. This one got through. They didn’t even remove the tags – a small victory for me.

Teenagers still love Christmas. They still wake early – not 2.30am early but it is a bugger having to set an alarm to put out their stockings, because they are still up when you are going to bed. They continue to insist on traditions being upheld and get cross if you dare try to skimp. The worst thing about teenagers at Christmas is that they can no longer be fobbed off with: if you don’t do what I ask, Santa will bring you vegetables. No, Christmas with teenagers is far more about truth and honesty and it is quite refreshing not having to spend December perpetuating a lie.

*they did buy us some good pressies too (in case they read this)