Grounded for the weekend by a teenager
I am 38 years old, and I was grounded to my room last weekend. I
wasn’t even allowed to come downstairs for a drink of water.
I guess things could have been worse. I had a tv, my laptop and
even a cooler full of Cokes next to the bed for easy access and all
the chips, Cracker Jack and Crunch Bites I could eat. Plus, I had a
friend to talk to. The Husband had been sequestered too. Even so, I
resisted being in exile. Especially since it was The Girl who
grounded me.
Grounded for the weekend by a teenager
I am 38 years old, and I was grounded to my room last weekend. I wasn’t even allowed to come downstairs for a drink of water.
I guess things could have been worse. I had a tv, my laptop and even a cooler full of Cokes next to the bed for easy access and all the chips, Cracker Jack and Crunch Bites I could eat. Plus, I had a friend to talk to. The Husband had been sequestered too. Even so, I resisted being in exile. Especially since it was The Girl who grounded me.
We were allowed to be in the living room just long enough to talk to the parents of her friends who were being dropped off for the big sleep-over.
After the last Dad had asked when to pick up his daughter and had left with that “So long, sucker” grin on his face, that was our cue. It was even worse than Parents Should Be Seen And Not Heard. We weren’t even allowed to be seen.
Apparently, 16-year-old girls never have parents. The roof over their heads? The food in the fridge? The electricity that they were wasting by having all the lights on in rooms they weren’t using? Oh, that’s just something the “landlords” were kind enough to supply.
I resisted the urge to drag out naked baby pictures of The Girl, and made my polite departure.
The Husband took a couple of trips downstairs under the guise of getting pizza order requests and bringing it home.
We spent our evening watching movies, turning the volume up every so often to cover the voices competing to be heard over each other and playing video games with The Boy. He was also grounded; even worse than we were. Under no circumstances was he allowed to go downstairs, unless we sent him to bring down our dirty dishes and to report back to us any wrong-doing. He came back red-faced because one of the girls had said that he was cute. He demanded that we promise not to make him go back downstairs for the rest of the night.
Midnight, and my evening was beginning to wind down. I was tired of being stuck in one place all night. I snuggled deep down under the covers with my pillow over my head while the squeals of laughter from the floor below were getting louder. The Husband and I looked at each other. How much soda were they all drinking? It was going to be a long night.
I might have dozed for an hour or so but a shrill cackle startled me awake, followed by a thud, uproarious laughter and giggles. This went on until 5:30 a.m. I know because I had to get up to go to the bathroom after drinking three cans of Coke in three hours. Damn that easily accessible beverage! My ears had that loud silence in them that you hear after being exposed to high volumes for a long time.
I got back in bed and sighed slowly and quietly, afraid I might awaken the hyenas downstairs.
Sunday morning brought the Coming of the Pillow Fight. I could hear the smack of sofa pillow against a sleeping girl and then what sounded like the voice of Charlie Brown’s teacher. That muffled “wha-wha-wha-wha,” and another smack. The laughter was getting loud again. Where were they getting all of this energy? I was exhausted.
I rolled over and turned up the electric blanket, grateful that I was 38 years old and grounded.
