Saturday, May 12, 2012
My Dear Son
My dear son,
Or rather, good afternoon.
While you decided to - again - sleep until noon, your father and I went grocery shopping so you and your girlfriend would have lunch at a reasonable time today. I know the girl's family lives on a different schedule from ours, and I've always felt bad for making her go hungry until late in the day, without a decent meal.
So, yes, today there will be roast chicken, and I've picked this recipe to make:
Roasted Cilantro Chicken
There will be saffron-spiced Basmati rice and salad to go with it, and I've talked your father into clearing the dining table ( which means, remove his laptop, his books, his gazillion pens and pencils, and the piece of chalk he brought home from school). Hey, I even bought napkins! They are paper napkins, but they have a really nice color. Love that muted, understated cream, it makes them look ALMOST like linen. Well, almost.
While we were at it, we also bought two DVDs of movies I know you'd like to watch:
"Sherlock Holmes 2" and "Cowboys And Aliens".
While we were at the mall, we walked past the Telecom shop where I bought my iPad this week.
Now you have to know, my dear son, that this is a VERY special week for Telecom. They are celebrating some sort of company anniversary, and to share their joy with their customers, they are offering ALL smart phones and tablets at 50% of their regular prices. Yes, I meant ALL tablets, and that includes the iPad.
That is the reason why I have an iPad now, if you want to know.
So today, just before we left to go shopping, I called you.
I mean, I HOLLERED through the house, asking for you to come out of your cave of a room for a second, and I got no reply. Instead, I got an TEXT MESSAGE from you on my phone, saying you couldn't.
I'd like to add that this was at 10.30 am.
I messaged back, saying it was ok.
Only it wasn't, really. But that's your problem now, and not mine.
See, I was in this really, really grand mood.
Last night I finished writing that chapter for my third book, the really, really hard chapter about 9/11, and I sent it out to some author friends to get their opinion. They loved it, said I'd captured the fear and sorrow and confusion so well, my imagery was so exceptional! I was incredibly relieved, actually elated, but more than anything else, relieved. Because, you see, writing about something like that day is a huge risk, and it's also very, very hard. But I did it, and it's good (say the others), and so I was in a celebratory mood.
I wanted to buy you your own iPad.
I know you wanted one as badly as I did, and this morning, when I called for you, I wanted to ask you how you felt about this, if you maybe wanted to come along, and did you want a black or white one?
But, dear son, you choose to not reply.
So there's no iPad for you, nor will there be one in the near future, because that super-special-extra offer expires today, and the Telecom shop in our little town closes at 12 noon. (It's 12.30 now!)
We got home a few minutes ago, and you're not here. Again, I got a text message from you, saying you were off to wherever with the GF, and you have no idea when you'll be back. So much for lunch.
You haven't done your chores, either. The house has NOT been vacuumed. The dishes have NOT been cleared.
You are nearly eighteen. We are a household of three adult people. You have chores.
To show you what I think of that, I'll just add some red Thai curry paste to the chicken recipe, and I'm awfully sorry I didn't bring any coconut milk. I'll cook this lunch that was actually meant for you and your girlfriend in such a way that *I* will like it, and not you.
After that, I'll bring out the chocolate ice cream and share it with your father, and I'm awfully sorry if there'll be only some weird, adult flavor like sour cream/cashew left that you don't like.
And there's the thing with the iPad, of course.
After lunch, ice cream and a lovely cup of coffee I'll sit here and play with my iPad.
I'll download some books and movies, I'll learn how to use the writing app I just bought, and play Angry Birds.
All these are things you will not be doing, because you can't be bothered to reply.
Having said all this, I wish you a happy Saturday.
Oh, and when you get back home? Please go to your room and pick up all the used Kleenex from your floor.