I thought I was middle-aged, so I’m pleased to hear this, and reward him with a chocolate drop. I’ve been experimenting with my behaviour towards my children since hearing about a woman who made a breakthrough with her husband following principles employed in exotic-animal training: namely, that good behaviour must be rewarded, while bad behaviour is ignored. The results with leopards and anteaters are apparently stunning; so, instead of nagging him for leaving his clothes on the floor, she steps over them, and is at the ready with a food treat or an offer of sex if he so much as puts the toothpaste lid back on the tube. Their marriage has never been better.
I have no husband or exotic animals in my life, but I do have teenagers. The chocolate drop goes down well with the 15-year-old, and he departs to honour his daily assignation with some beautiful French girls. This leaves the coast clear for me to do exotic-animal training on the 17-year-old. He is still asleep at two, then three in the afternoon. And at four. Do I wake him with a chocolate drop? A reward for opening his eyes? Or do I ignore him and the fact that he has not yet begun Moll Flanders, his A-level holiday read?
His habit is to get up in time for the evening. He avoids sunbathing and swimming, saying that in a past life he was drowned at sea, and it has put him off. He appears in my bedroom to say good morning as I’m getting ready for dinner. I notice that he, too, employs exotic tactics — he is giving me compliments to get rewards. It works. So, “Mum, can I have some money?” has been replaced by “That’s a nice bikini, mum”. I am doling out the euros like chocolate drops. And some real chocolate drops, too, as a reward for all the cigarettes he hasn’t smoked while he has been asleep. Goodwill reigns.
It is stretched somewhat by the disparity of nightlife. We grown-ups — a term that to me encompasses all those who know when they have had enough to drink, regardless of age — enjoy evening parties with the sun setting over the sea, music to dance to, food to toy with and the odd flirtation.
Advertisement
The exotic teens, however, like parties that begin at 2.30am, with music so loud, the police are called (twice). Food is grabbed out of someone’s fridge at dawn, bottles of liqueur and tequila are swilled down together and everyone has at least three close encounters with the opposite sex, preferably fully clothed in the swimming pool.
I am unable to reward them with food treats for not drowning, as every chocolate drop has been stolen. The only solution is to ignore bad behaviour and broken glass, breathe deeply and dream of a Greek beach and middle-age spread.