Thursday, 26 January 2017

The Very Hungry Teenager*

By the light of an iPhone, a large seemingly immovable lump lay on a bed.

On Sunday morning the curtains were opened by a mother (she had successfully used a head torch to navigate from one side of the room to the other to avoid the piles of clothing and rubbish in her quest for daylight) and POP! - out of the bed lurched a grumpy and very hungry teenager.

"Oh My God!  We never have anything good to eat in this house" he bellowed.  He mother told him she was fed up of always doing the shopping just so that he could eat it all, and so she gave him the cash and dispatched him to the supermarket.

He started to look for some food.

On Monday he ate through one box of breakfast cereal.

But he was still hungry.

On Tuesday he ate through two pot noodles.

But he was still hungry.

On Wednesday he ate through three share sized bags of crisps.

But he was still hungry.

On Thursday he ate through four bacon sandwiches.

But he was still hungry.

On Friday he ate through five custard filled doughnuts.

But he was still hungry.

On Saturday he ate through one freshly baked homemade cake (which was for the school fair),
one tub of Ben and Jerry's (his mother was saving that for eating while watching Sherlock *tuts*),
the last packed of pickled onion flavoured Monster Munch (which he was welcome to),
a whole packet of swiss cheese (for packed lunches!),
a packet of italian salami (seriously, I was looking forward to that),
a lollipop (nicked from his seven year old sister's party bag),
the last of the christmas mince pies from the freezer (well, someone had to have them),
a sausage (I can't leave anything in the fridge for a minute - cold sausages are my favourite),
a cupcake (nothing is sacred),
and one slice of watermelon flavoured bubblegum (no fruit or vegetables may pass his lips).

Unsurprisingly that night he had a stomach ache!

The next day was Sunday again and so he stayed in his pit and got everyone to wait on him hand and foot. That night he felt much better.

And for a brief period at least, he wasn't hungry anymore, and he wasn't little anymore.

He was at least six inches taller than last week.

His mother said that maybe they should go shopping for some new clothes for him.

"But I don't want to go shopping!" he said, "Shopping is sooooo boooooring!" *does eyeroll*

So instead he climbed back into bed, wrapping the covers around himself in a cocoon-like fashion, leaving his mother to work out what size leg he was in jeans now so that she could order them on the internet.  And he pretended to do some GCSE Maths revision for a bit.

Eventually he realised that he needed a shower, otherwise he would likely never get a girl to go to prom with him and so he left his bed and...

demanded that his mother buy him some head and shoulders, some clearasil and a pricey pot of hair wax (oh, and some more breakfast cereal, because someone keeps eating it all?).

The End.

(except it never really is the end is it?  It goes on and on, or is that just me? FFS.)

*  With apologies to Eric Carle (or as the teenagers say, #sorrynotsorry).
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