The boys say goodbye to the Jazz
So, the other night, he drove his new car home, and he and Small Disgrace were immediately all over it, practically salivating, and bezzing around the Close, music blaring. I stood on the doorstep, sulking.
"Come on, hop in, lets take it for a drive," said Mr Disgrace. I reluctantly humphed into the back seat and sat there scowling and pulling my collar up so my mates wouldn't recognize me, in the style of a truculent teenager being dropped off at a party by her dad.
Now, admittedly, it's quite smooth. And it's got some fancy screen thing that pops up and says things on it (don't know what - I can't drive), and it's very spacious. But it can fuck off. Because it's an Audi: An absolutely giant, black Audi A6. And those, much like big black BMWs, are the mark of the wanker.
Reasons it annoys me:
a) It's longer than our drive.
b) It looks a bit like a hearse.
c) The headlights give it a cross face (yes, this is how I judge cars. Don't start).
d) There are only 3 of us in our family, and we are all short (yes, husband - short. Not average height, no matter how much you try to convince me). We really don't need the extra room.
e) Every time I look out of the window, I keep thinking some cheeky smug git has parked on our drive.
c) It's just...it's just not the sort of car that a family of Disgraces should own.
Our family is rubbish. Rubbish. We are not a power family. Our child does not go to 4 different extra curricular activities. Our house is a mess. Chickens occasionally wander in and out of our lounge, passing comment on Double Your House for Half the Money. Also, I had to take a calculator to Aldi yesterday to make sure our weekly shop didn't go over 24 quid and bankrupt us, which I don't think makes us nice-car-worthy, does it? And we generally like pottering along in our "who gives a crap" state. Don't we? Don't we, Mr Disgrace? I thought we did, anyway.
It's just a bit...show off-y, I think. A bit "look at me." I try to voice this to my husband:
"I just don't think it's really 'us', you know," I say. "We're not alphas. We're...we're charmingly eclectic."
"But we're getting better at life and stuff."
"Well, a bit. But, we're the Disgrace Family. We're supposed to be disgraceful. Not the owners of the wankermobile. What next? An Aga to cook the fish fingers in? This is not going to be good for blog material."
"Well, frankly darling, you've been scraping the bottom of the barrel for a while, what with the nice new bathroom and our son not being a git since he was two. Ha - we should probably have another baby just so you've got something to write about."
Thin ice, Mr Disgrace. And for that, I shall be wearing my frostiest knickers to bed tonight.
He does have a point though. Small Disgrace is an easy going, well behaved delight to parent (albeit a total weirdo still), our new bathroom is gorgeous, and if you were to look in the kitchen right now, you'd see empty work surfaces and a fully stacked dishwasher. We seem to have improved without me even noticing. I feel a bit betrayed to be honest. I'm still bumbling about, cocking up and muttering about taking down the establishment, while Mr Disgrace has become a proper grown up. How am I supposed to damn The Man and save The Empire* when my husband is driving a grown up car and wearing head to toe Boden?"
He tells me we're still the same really. Things haven't really changed that much: "It's OK babe, we're still a little bit crappy. Don't worry. After all, we'll always have the giant ants nest."
True. we'll always have that. That is a comfort.
* 90s teen movie reference. If you don't get it, I'm afraid we can no longer be friends.