I was in the middle of researching my ‘five sure signs you’re dating a Sociopath’ blog when my daughter rang from France. I haven’t heard from her for a week. Packed her off with phone (and masses of credit), charger, iPad & charger, spare chargers and forced her to memorise all my telephone numbers and email addresses.
That was last Saturday. Since then, I’ve heard nothing. Her wonderful hosts have provided elegant and lengthy description of the group’s idyllic travels through Brittany. Safe in the knowledge that she is very much alive, my ‘thoughts’ have ranged between (fake) ‘she’s obviously having a wonderful time, I’m so happy she’s embracing the freedom of her independence.’ and ‘ungrateful piece of adolescent spoilt ******* brattishness……etc etc expletive etc’.
Resisting the urge to drive 750 kms for an argument, yesterday evening (after work), was ‘tough’. I was forced to make friends with a bottle of white wine (thats all I had) since no one was around to hide the car keys from me.
Turns out my princess had tried a ton of different message paths to me, but all of her sweet nothings were returned ‘unsent’. She was in a worse state of anxiety than me and now I owe her a new leotard for greeting her call with a tirade of expletives and accusations. Luckily she doesn’t know I’d have agreed to buy her ten! She’s alive and well and I love her so much.