I made the mistake of turning the TV on during bed time ‘routine’ last night. I say ‘routine’ but that is wrong. It is no longer a ‘routine’. The ‘routine’ ended the day they could shower themselves. I have been in denial and it has just dawned on me.
A ‘routine’ implies a set of unchanged activities. Bath time is never the same. Sometimes it’s easy and most of the time it’s not. It’s not that they don’t want to shower. They just run on different times. The boys are nearly 10 and 8.5. Old enough to sort themselves out. They don’t need supervised. And after 1000’s of bath times we are over it.
So I take the opportunity to lie down for 5 minutes while they shower. I turn the TV on.
In one ear I hear the boys using the bathroom like their own personal water park. In the other is my wife. I am in trouble for taking 5 minutes to myself while she makes the kids school lunches.
All the while I am watching a TV housewife looking at her filthy bathtub. Smiling. She gives a little tut and a ho-diddly-hum and nearly polishes the enamel off it. The children play sweetly in the background. Their perfect clothes unsoiled. Their hair and skin perfect.
Please give me an honest ad. Show me one where the family is in chaos. The parents are sculling wine by the pint glass and sucking on a ciggie out the bathroom window. Where the house is a mess and the washing is never done.
Give me a car ad where the seats are constantly covered in crumbs and the kids nag to have their music put on. Parody after bloody parody.
Show me a breakfast scene where the kids grab an Up & Go and a tim tam on their way out the door.
Show me a bathroom cleaning ad where the toothpaste is on the floor, pools of water line the vanity and the bathroom seat is a bio-hazard.
Give me an evening scene where the kids sneak out the bedroom for a bag of crisps while mum and dad play on their phones.
Give me a bank ad where you end up queuing for ages at lunch time because everyone has gone on their lunch break.
Show me a mobile phone ad where the child has the phone and it takes 15 requests and finally a screaming threat in order to get it back.
Give me a fitness ad with fat people.
An insurance ad where you get told you are not covered.
And a scene where mum and dad ignore each other after a hard days work.
And please, show me a tampon ad where the lady isn’t an outdoor wilderness fanatic. Give me a raging wife with a bemused looking husband.
Or at the very least let me know where I can buy these ecstasy-laced tampons that she must be using.
I might just use one myself.