As a gift to my 50-year-old self.. I shed locks..cut my hair to the scalp.. and make-believe I look like Josette Simon…..Lupita Nyong’o…

Daughter: You look like a peanut.

She erupts into my room with a glint in her eye and a spring in her step, tosses her school bag on the floor…

Daughter: I’ve got some good news mum.

Me: Oh yes.

Daughter: I mean really good news!

Me: I’m all ears.

Daughter: Wait for it, wait for it.

Me: What is it?!

She smiles absurdly…

Daughter: I didn’t get a U in Chemistry!!

Daughter: Mum can I have £20 by the end of the week?

Me: What for?

Daughter: The Year 11 leavers hoody. Payment has to be in by Friday.

Me: That’s a nice idea…what a lovely memento for your time there. Will it have the names of all the students in your year group?

Daughter: No, the name of every character in Macbeth.

Her world is a brilliant and bizarre, chaotic universe littered with clothes, clothes and yet more clothes, sweet wrappers, discarded study notes, empty plastic water bottles, GCSE text books and used tea mugs, well just one, but that’s one too many…

Me: Why does your room look like a squat?

Daughter: Because  I haven’t found what I’m looking for.

Me: Which is what exactly?

Daughter: Myself

Me: I really like your friend Fiona’s eyebrows..they look so sculptured. Where did she get them done?

Daughter: She did them herself.

Me: Really?

Her expression tells me I am sure to feel very very very stupid…

Me: What did she use?

…..very very very soon..

Daughter: Watercolour paint.

Daughter: What are you wearing?

Me: It’s a new top.

Daughter: You actually bought that?

Me: No, it was a present from a friend.

Daughter: No mum. That wasn’t a present.

Me: Well I love it.

Daughter: And the person who gave that to you is not your friend.

Me: The colours are so bright and joyful.

Daughter: Believe me mum, whoever gave you that does not want the best for you.

Daughter: Mum, mum, mum, mum!

Me: For God sakes!

Daughter: Can I get a pizza for dinner?

Me: You can if you use your own money.

She looks perturbed..traumatised, even.

Daughter: I can’t believe you’re actually encouraging me to spend the money I’m saving for my future, my very bright future....on junk food. Junk food. I’m lost for words mother, I really am.

I’m at work, anxiously awaiting news of her English GCSE result….My heart skips a beat when she calls…

Daughter: Got an A star.

This mother’s heart skips another beat….

Me: I am so so so so..proud of you !

Daughter: It’s no big thing mum.

Me: No big thing!? You got an A star!

I can hear her smile…

Me: Don’t pretend you’re not chuffed..

Daughter: Mmm.. ‘chuffed’..can’t say I’m familiar with the word mother.

Me: I know you’re pleased no matter what you say.

A long pause..

Daughter: I may have accidentally..

Me: What?

Daughter: Hugged a few friends at school.

Daughter: I’m going to the corner shop.

Me: What for?

Daughter: To get some Pot Noodles.

Me: Don’t be silly…it’s Christmas….

Daughter: I know that mother.

Me: So there’s no need for you to go to the shop.

Daughter: Because you’re cooking turkey.

Me: Exactly.

Daughter: You are cooking the turkey.

Me: Yes!

Daughter: You.

Me: As always.

Daughter: I’m going to the shop to get some Pot Noodles.

Me: How did your Maths test go today?

Daughter: It went OK actually.

Me: I’m really pleased. You always work so hard.

Daughter: Whatever the outcome I’ll be fine.

Who is this sanguine, enlightened teen?

Daughter: I know because…

She’s effervescence in motion…so self assured…

Daughter: You don’t actually need Maths GCSE to be a stripper.