Today I have to navigate the minefield that is DrummerBoy's Bedroom. Normally, this is a quarter I venture into every Saturday to put away his clothes and pick up the lost damp towels that cover every inch of the carpet. I don't touch the mess of pottage that is accumulating on his huge computer desk - which incidentally seems to house everything but a computer. It's a mish mash of remote control cars, Darth Vadar lego, model aeroplanes, photographs, biology and horticulture texts, bronzed soccer boots and a pipe box that he made in woodwork when he was 14. Then there's the trail bike armour, the helmets and boots, some ghastly rocket fuel that he assures me is for the motor bike but I suspect it's some moonshine hooch that gets mixed with Coke when the good stuff runs out or fuel to light bonfires. Either way, it's a brave person who ventures beyond the door with the with the bikini girl sitting suggestively on a motorbike poster.
However, Thommo has donated a double bed and put the pressure on me to pick it up before she returns from her holiday in Vietnam. It's blocking the door to her loo or some inane excuse like that. This was too good an opportunity to knock back and despite the fact that his bedroom is very small, DrummerBoy is in a relationship with a lovely girl, he's 20 years old and getting a bit big for the mattress on the floor sleep out kind of arrangement.
When I first built the house, I had a 2 year old and a 4 year old. They were small, as ankle biters usually are, and their little bedrooms with built-in's were plenty big enough for a couple of bunks and a trundle bed in case friends wanted to sleep over. These days . . . friends sleep over for a different reason and are not too happy when I fling em a sleeping bag and say . . "You're on the bottom". But they's all growed up now and a new tac has to be considered.
Seriously though, he's been in a relationship with TheFringelet for a long time now. And I like her. If she was a slurry or a skank (see I can speak teenager) I wouldn't have condoned it but she's not. She's a sweet, intelligent funny kid who loves his scruffy ass. I know they do it, they know I know they do it . . so it just made sense to accept the bed, get them off the floor in my loungeroom every Saturday night and give them some privacy. They are no longer babies - Crikey, I was married at 22 . . .
I was chatting to a youngling friend this morning who said "So you're alright with that sort of thing then?". I assumed that his folks wouldn't have embraced his bringing a babe home for a 'sleepover'. He sounded a bit surprised at my leniality. Better under my roof than in the back of the Magna (although I don't doubt that's been used for clandestine naughtiness as well.) As long as he's careful, respects the girl and does the right thing in terms of protection, I don't mind the dancing doona.
My mother would have had the horrors. I didn't get my queen bed until I was married - ironically a wedding present from her and dad! Didn't stop us tho. Would have been nice to have a cosy double bed, I really got sick of dodging that bloody Cooper S gear stick.
So along with a huge tidyout so that we can fit the thing in the room and be able to open the wardrobe doors, he has to sacrifice his little toys, get rid of the computer stand, and relocate the bike gear (he's already avoiding the issue by pretenting to tend to the swimming pool!). He is not a tosser like his mother. Everything 'might come in handy' at a future date so there will be blood on the dance floor before we're finished I'll warrant. Then again, the motive for the bed might be enough to keep the peace. Wish me luck!