It had been an inadvertant late one. Once they realised Leicester Square was still the epic non-event it always has been, the two girls decided against joining the majority for a night of extortionate drinks, rancid ming mongs and posing for potential Facebook profile pictures in Soho dive Penthouse; opting instead for the last train back to their neck of the woods. Back in the local vicinity, the party was just getting started, and they joined other friends out celebrating a birthday. Tequila ensued until 3am. Chatting in the kitchen over falaffal and humous continued until 5am. The sun came up, and the girls bedded down.
We join our famished, hungover pair at 11am on Sunday morning, lying top to tail on a single bed, trying to remember their own names and realising that having money in your wallet after a night out doesn't mean you spent less money, it just means that you were buying rounds that required a card.
"Last night was pretty good actually. Everyone was on form. I'm hungry. You hungry?"
"Yeah. I could eat. Pretty starving. Oh, do you remember getting carried down the ro-"
A raised hand stops me half way through my sentence. I look at my friend, who is leaning down close to the floor and listening carefully. "Hang on" she says. Next thing I know, and she's banging against the wooden bedroom floor with her fist. Stops. Listens. Bangs a few more times.
"What on earth are you doing?" I ask, slightly baffled.
"TWO CUPS OF TEA PLEAAAAASE." she yells, waiting for a response.
Silence. More banging. Footsteps.
"YOU DO KNOW IT'S FATHER'S DAY...." comes a yell from the bottom of the stairs.
"HAPPY FATHER'S DAY. IS THE KETTLE ON? PLEEEEEASE"
Footsteps fade back into the kitchen below us, followed by the sound of running water. Footsteps back to the stairs.
"BOTH WITH SUGAR?"
"YES PLEASE!" we both chorus, "THAAAAANKS!"
I'm laughing my head off. "I love that. Just banging on the floor for a cup of tea. You lazy sod."
She looks at me, grinning. "Haha. Oh that's nothing. Usually I'll just call the house phone from my mobile."
Living at home has it's merits.
PS. Before you send round the "ungrateful daughter" lynch mob, don't worry. She cooked him breakfast.
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7 comments:
Thank God almighty my daughters will never, ever treat me like the hired help.
Will they?
Hope the tea was hot enough when it arrived. I would hate to think you had to send it back.
"Thank God almighty my daughters will never, ever treat me like the hired help.
Will they?"
Oh no, hired help comes later. You'll be a taxi driver before you're a tea maker.
Excellent. Love it!
Was coffee not on offer, or any choice of the type of tea?
As the designated tea maker in the house (well mornings at least - which is strange as I won't touch the stuff myself, tastes like stewed socks) - I believe you tea drinkers don't care what it tastes like as long as you don't have to make it yourselves. When I'm feeling a little evil, I leave a little floater as a surprise. Tea bags are good for that, they sink without trace and then unexpectedly attack about halfway through the drink.....
Oh, friggits! Father's Day! I forgot!
oh how i miss the days of living at home and having a cooked meal for me everynight and my washing done. Do they hire out mums anywhere?
Perp - I am usually partial to a peppermint tea, but didn't risk asking to be honest. I'll take what I'm given.
Blacklog - Haha, you had me wondering what you meant then when you said "a little floater". Phew. Just a tea bag, then.
Ellie - Uh ohhhhhhhhhhh...maybe only in the UK though. Your dad will never find out.
Miss H - When I leave home, there'll be a vacancy here?
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