Close the Gate....

Forward: This is a passage describing feelings relating to past event, which has raised deep emotions despite the simplicity of the requests.

A stunning tree deep within Dalby Forest

Its bloody good job that I, like so many others in my situation, suffer tragically from a terrible and debilitating disease; an infliction so devastating and life altering that only another parent would understand the pain caused by this invisible peril. It’s called unconditional love; and is secreted from the pores of the skin for your little bundles of pain joy, and if it didn’t exist or I didn’t suffer from it; I swear I would be receiving visits from my friendly (?) local social worker by now questioning why there are two boys hanging by their underpants from the top of the garage door screaming that it wasn’t them.

For reasons unbeknown to any rational thinking adult, ‘dumb and dumber’ (I do love them, honestly, but this really winds me up) consistently leave the gate, separating my tranquil and tidy back garden from what can only be described as a world war 3, with what sounds like actual murders taking place, wide open. My boundary is breached, my protection from the hordes of screaming brats is nonexistent and I’m scared. What if the little gob s**tes wander in through the open gate looking for an easy target, someone to cling on to, I don’t want to be that friendly dad that the kids feel comfortable around, I’d have to employ an immigrant worker to help me with the never ending string of snacks and drinks that need to be supplied to the rabble.

On Sunday I actually made an effort to count how many times the simple request was made to my two boys, and their friends, and their friends’ friends, and the other randomers that happened to be following them in and out of my garden.  FIFTEEN TIMES, honestly I asked the ignorant little toe rags fifteen times to close the bloody gate, and each and every time they passed through the boundary it was left wide open. And because of that, there is now a deep head shaped groove next to the patio door which I found my head slamming uncontrollably into after every gate related violation occurred. I have a head ache….

But there is an answer, a solution that will save me from the potential snack preparation hell that only expensive ongoing therapy could relive; it’s a called a ‘large f**king spring’ and it will do what my little sods are ment to do after every opening event of the wooden portcullis occurs – CLOSE IT BEHIND THEM!!