The Garden of Good and Dumped!

Note to all you young Mummy Instagram Bloggers. Make hay while the sun in shining because in about a decade, your content will take a direct pivot because your kids will become teenagers and will not want a bar of any of it.

Which, from an editorial point of view is a MASSIVE BLOW because the teenage years can offer up some of the most astounding, gobsmacking, heartbreaking, triumphant content ideas, the likes you could never imagine!

Like teenage romance.

I am watching one of my bairns in the throes of his first romance and with it, it has allowed me the opportunity to reflect upon my own.

I was in Year Ten at high school when I finally found a boy who didn’t make me want to puke. He was a little older than me, very funny, very romantic and I often found myself staring out the window in class, thinking of our future together. Being at boarding schools, we were denied a lot of access to each other, so long, wordy letters were sent by post.

Proper old school stuff.

I had pashed a few boys before. Practiced on my hand, my pillow etc when I was younger. Studied pashing each afternoon at 4pm on the dot via the good and frisky cast of The Bold and the Beautiful. Hey, I even leant a few things from this firecracker. How to tilt your head in fact.

Forever missed.

Anyway, things were going along tickety-boo, with confessions of love eventually being made. We met each others families’ and would spend hours on the phone to each other.

“You hang up first…. No you!”

Sundays were spent in the city, sucking each others faces off in Hyde Park or The Botanical Gardens while perverts took advantage off the free show.

Things were progressing well.

Then he came to stay for the weekend. My mother, not being an idiot and sick off watching me turn into a feckless fool every time we were together, put us at the most polar opposite ends of the house and in my mind, set up a series of triggers and obstacles to alert her of any nocturnal wanderings. It looked like this…

But like any teenager, you do not understand the consequences of risk taking and my knight in shining armour was on the prowl. What a brave boy he was because had he have run into into my Mother in the hallways, he would have had his ass kicked into 1997.

Eventually he came into my room and we started fooling around a bit. It would appear that my love was interested in all things botanical, as he tried to access my lady garden. His enthusiasm was met with firm resistance, but we kissed for aged before the time had come for him to make his way though the maze and back into the safety of his own bed.

The next day, things were different between is. We were not so lovey dovey and when my stepdad drove us back to our respective schools, he gave me a peck on the cheek and told me that he would call that night.

The call came, and I listened as he stumbled over his words, I let the pauses in the conversation remain uncomfortable. And then he did it.

He broke up with me.

At first I was devastated, naturally. All that time spent pashing in the Botanical Gardens? Well, it turned out he was only interested in getting onto one garden, and that one belonged to me.

Right then and there, I should have channeled my inner Sally.

‘YOU WANT MY GARDEN? HERE IS MY GARDEN! TAKE THAT KNOB FACE!”

The following year, I met a more patient botanical fancier, who had more knowledge and experience in tending to gardens. And it was he who I allowed to explore it.

The End.