Alone at last!

So here we are, quite unexpectedly alone, Mrs Ed and I.  The REE (Resident Expert on Everything) has flown the coop and is now studying in Cape Town (I'm not sure if he's doing the five year course in Muscle Management for Babe Attraction - with honours in The Extreme Surf-board Carrying Flex, or if he opted for the Chicks Dig Dreads Diploma).  And to make matters worse, (or better?) the CCM (Cash Consuming Machine) has decided to go into hostel at high school, perhaps having sensed that staying at home she might find herself solely in charge of the Beer-Fetchment for Dad department.

So we are alone....

Of course when they left there was much wailing and tear-shedding.... until I discovered that The REE hadn't actually stolen the seven cans of 'Amber Nectar' I had left in the fridge as I suspected, - Mrs Ed had secreted them in the laundry basket, knowing he would never think to go near there, clever girl. 

Further points in the ‘cheer up’ category were scored when we discovered that The CCM had somehow packed all 7 345 908 items of her clothing in her hostel case (call it the ‘just in case’?), which meant  we could actually re-acquaint ourselves with the carpet on her bedroom floor for the first time in 14 years. 
“Oh my!” commented Mrs Ed “Isn't it a lovely colour?”

For a while we enjoyed our empty-nest syndrome,  linking arms and skipping merrily from room to room to celebrate our new-found freedom.
“I can do my sewing in here!” chirped Mrs Ed on entering what had previously been The REE pit. I could still smell his socks, but that was not the cause of my nausea, inward shiver and instant sweat .... 

I should explain that our children have long ago learned that their mother will shoot from 0 to 100 on the Extreme Anger-ometer whenever she attempts to mend something with needle and thread.  Mrs Ed always starts in a friendly Stepford Wife manner, with a warm, fuzzy smile and happy assumption of motherly duty…. but the moment she tries to poke the cotton through that “Stupid Little Hole”? ... Well it's like a volcano eruption.  Verbal lava spews forth (“This darn house has no decent light! How can I be expected to… blah blah frightening blah). 


No-one is safe. The neighbours rush out on errands, the dogs dig under the back fence, even The REE, who is well known for his twisting-mom-round-finger ability, point blank refuses to issue any sort of sewing request to her.  Over the years I have often found him in his bedroom late at night, crudely stitching up a shirt or a pair of jeans by torchlight under his blanket.
 “Please don't tell her…” he would whimper.

So  I certainly did not want to consider a room dedicated to kindling this mighty Mrs Ed anger. I grabbed her arm and pulled her down the passage until we stood in the next doorway.  This one used to be “The Place Of No Description But Predominantly Full Of Smelly-Footed Teenagers, Coffee Cups and Dirty Plates”. 
“How about a wine cellar in here?” I thought aloud … Mrs Ed gave me one of those looks that have been known to curdle custard.
“You're kidding!,” she hissed, “It's hard enough to get a bottle of wine from the car into the house without you opening it, never mind storing it in a cellar!” I didn't argue. I had taken her mind off sewing, that was all that mattered.

We shuffled back to the lounge  which was eerily quiet… and empty. Flopping down on the couch we relaxed and both heaved a not-exactly-genuine sigh of contentment….

And then there was silence. REAL silence.  Not the sort of silence you have when you know that someone, somewhere in the house, is sitting with headphones on, listening to Lady Gogga at volume 12 gazzilluion.

No this was genuine, pin-drop , no-noise silence.   It was scary. 

Suddenly Mrs Ed's voluminous tummy rumbled, and in reflex I hit the floor, face down, convinced that I was about to be crushed by a horde of Wildebeest, misdirected on their way to the Serengeti. 

Then silence again.
 
To make myself feel better I went to the fridge and opened it.  There was nothing but a small piece of cheese and a jar of gherkins.  I closed the door then opened it again.  The cheese was still there! (so were the gherkins - but they are ALWAYS there). 
Befuddled, I repeated the process, this time more quickly. Yep, that wonderful bit of cheese was still sitting comfortably - smiling back at me in all its dairy glory.  Excitement gathering,  I worked the fridge door again and again:- Open, closed. Open, closed. It was amazing! Even when I did it slowly, the cheese was always waiting on the other side! 
I called Mrs Ed in tearful ecstasy.
“Quick! Come and look!” I cried, “The Cheese… it stays…. When there's no kids, the cheese stays!”

Perhaps, for the benefit of those who have never shared a home with a teenager, I had better explain.  They (the teens) have the supernatural ability to consume -  in the twinkle of an eye - the last piece of cheese.  They don't even have to come near the fridge.  They just somehow get it.  It is something we adults will never understand, like the Twilight Zone....

  In fact no, it's more like Star Trek: You will remember that whenever Captain Kirk was stranded on a planet, he would contact his ship through his radio-watch, saying those famous words:
“Beam me up, Scotty”.
Then suddenly, right before our very eyes, he would fade, disappear, and reappear -  safe and sound on the Captain’s Deck. 

Well, teenagers can do that with cheese.  Particularly The Last Bit of Cheese. It doesn't matter where they are in the house:- bedroom, toilet, even the shower, they just boldly 'Beam it up', and somehow that delicious bit of Cheddar you have been telling your stomach about all day disappears...  The plastic wrapper stays behind on the shelf of course….
So you will understand my joy on discovering that they are unable to remotely consume cheese over long distance.

Better yet, imagine how The REE must have felt in his Cape Town digs when he realised the enormity of this?  It meant buying his own food!  That's unheard of!  Especially not CHEESE! 
In fact, if the truth be told, it has led to a long series of rather alarming revelations for the lad.
He's only been gone two weeks, but speaking to him on the phone I can hear his tongue is already getting thinner. 
“Dad, do you know how expensive food is here?” he says.  (No! Surely it's absolutely free, just like it is here in Sedgefield? )
“Dad, do you know that chicken is SO MUCH CHEAPER than beef?” (Is it really? And all those years we spent depriving you of steak just because we felt like being mean.)
“Eish dad, it's tough  We want to go surfing, but we had to spend the petrol money on groceries!” (Yes son, that's why we cancelled our cruise to the Bahamas last year, because we needed to buy cheese.)
“Dad! I've got a plan! Why don't you lease my bedroom out to a lodger, and then we can split the rent, cos' it's my room after all, and I'll be able to use the money for groceries here in Cape town?” (Sorry son, we can't.  Your mom has already booked your room to do her sewi…..  Hang on.  Do you know what? You are a flipping genius... 
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