I crept in from the Florida Moonshine upstairs party just after midnight. Abel was fast asleep, having reached the limit of his usefulness three hour earlier. I tried hard not to disturb him, because I’m nice and thoughtful, but I couldn’t help but get flashes of a teenage girl returning home in the middle of the night.
She’d had permission to go out to the cinema with her two best friends, but what her parents didn’t realise was that some boys would be coming along as well, and that one of the boys would invite the whole band to his house, as his parents were away.
Thus it would be that the girl, whose curfew is 11 o’clock, tiptoed home at half-past-twelve, expecting to go straight to her room – but finding that her father was dozing on the chair in the living-room.
When he heard the front door, he woke up at once, and strode towards her with determination.
“Do you have an explanation?” he asked quietly.
The girl mumbled something about forgetting the time, and how sorry she was to be late.
“I see, young lady. Well, we don’t want to wake the entire family, but you will set your alarm for 8 am, and wait for me in your room. We have something to discuss, don’t we?”
And thus the tearful girl, who’d up until that point been having a wonderful evening, had a very uncomfortable night’s sleep, waiting for a very painful appointment the following morning.
I’m so glad I’m not her!
Chooses this very moment to call your room and wish you welcome to this side of the pond. Oh my! Did the ringing phone wake Abel?
Or the girl concerned could be reckless and post with great glee as to how she’d got away with coming home late. A friend might mention it in conversation – and the post would be duly read at 10.20 the following morning. The sheets on the bed would be pulled back, and she’d be soundly spanked.
(Apologies to any of the neighbours here in our Florida hotel if we just disturbed you…)