Dear Mum,
It was lovely to spend Sunday night at home with you and Dad. This might sound rather ironic, coming from a mere 21 year old, but I’ve outgrown the student life.
Yes, I did love the lie-ins and dancing until dawn and friends living on my doorstep. But give me a night-in with mojito, good film and the family any day!
Minus one thing, perhaps. Why is it that every time Dad and I are alone in front of the TV all adverts and programmes are sex-related?
Without fail, you leave the room to make a cup of tea and cue the erectile dysfunction advert.
I always naively think “I’ll let that one go,” acting like nothing cringe-worthy has occurred. Yet the subject unwaveringly continues. The previous advert is followed by a Tena Ladies advert or the comedian continues his string of member related jokes.
Dad and I refuse to look at one another, channelling our attention at the TV screen.
I can feel every part of my body, growing heavier and heavier, the embarrassment and horror tangible as it weighs down by being. Dad may offer a snort of uncomfortable laughter to break the silence between us. But the feeling of mortification is undoubtedly mutual.
Fortunately, because we pre-plan the TV we watch with Grandma to avoid unsettling her, I am fully prepared for such unsuitable moments. I can pre-determine the perfect juncture to excuse myself and thus miss the steamy sex scenes.
Sadly, channel hopping with Dad does not offer such preparation. I think fathers and daughters everywhere would agree warning signs before these televised moments are necessary, giving the child or parent enough time to leave the room.
Perhaps this seems bizaare – we’re both 21st century adults and it’s just TV. But I don’t think our family are alone in not accepting this as a kosher family scenario. Frankly, I’d rather go shopping for loafers.
Ciao Mama x x x
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