Moms are foxy Ladies; if David Attenborough did homework documentaries
The glinting strap of the bag perches precariously on a shoulder and drags along the floor. White polka dots provocative upon its cover, teasing with a deceiving wink.
Daring to peek inside, the female parental unit asks, "Shall we see what homework you've got?" The fear of maths that she cannot help with, rises like a drunken morning in her throat.
"Seven sheets?" she cries.
A sarcastic tone has taken over from the enthusiastic one she was intending to convey.
The next four evenings are taken up with the task. Whilst the parents find themselves studying for another degree. With a sigh, it is, at last, finished.
A minor miracle, given that School will expect it to be handed in the next day.
Small noises echo from the back of the house. On this evening, the male has chosen to reside in the Kitchen. Considering the out of sight, out of mind philosophy, best.
Suddenly, the child unexpectedly cries out from deep within the depths of the house. The sound like one from a mortal injury, the mother is protective and at once seeks out the source of the sound.
"Mum, I've forgotten to do my holiday reading!" the child exclaims.
The scream of the female parental unit can be heard bouncing like balls off the walls, alerting the male to danger.
Risking a volatile encounter, the male peers around the door.
"Glass of wine?" He asks.
His voice hushed yet quietly confident. Any sign of weakness could sway this encounter into dangerous territory.
"Oh, yes dear. That would be lovely!"
For another day, disaster is averted...