Warning!
This is a book for the open-minded only!
If you feel that you already know all about the mysteries of our existence, your view of life is set and you would like to keep it this way, then this book is not meant for you. Don't bother reading...
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You can do anything, but not everything.
— David Allen
I was sitting at the kitchen table, watching Mum cook lunch.
Hungrily.
Which was my own fault, really, since I had - once again - traded breakfast for being able to sleep in on this last Sunday in October.
I could have prepared my own breakfast, of course, but Mum did not appreciate that kind of activity after 10:30 am. She repeatedly told me that it would ruin my appetite for lunch. (Which, unfortunately, would not really have been an issue, believe me.)
Besides, she preferred having the whole kitchen to herself while cooking, as she was usually working on all kinds of dishes at the same time. Which was probably the real reason for keeping me from snacking. She definitely had a tendency to get nervous when she felt that somebody was in her way while she was flitting through the kitchen, moving like the ballerina in a well-rehearsed ballet.
Quite understandably so, I guess.
Still, this knowledge did nothing to assuage my protesting stomach. After all, I had been out with Beni, Sofi and the rest of the gang until midnight the night before. And as usual, Beni and Marti had clandestinely snuck into my room through the window about half an hour later.
They had left early in the morning, which was the main reason for my getting up so late. The other being that I simply loved sleeping in.
Anyway, that kind of nightly activity was quite exhausting, even though nothing serious happened. Yup, I was still quite the virgin!
Which reminded me. . .
"Uhm. . . Mum, how old were you when. . ." I hesitated. How should I best put it? Ah, what the heck. . ."when you had sex for the first time?"
Mum stopped whatever she had been in the process of doing, turned around and looked at me intently.
"Why?" She demanded to know, sounding a bit strained.
"I don't know," I responded, "I guess I am just curious." Which wasn't a lie, actually. Somehow, we mostly perceive our parents as just that: parents. Occasionally though, I found it rather intriguing to get to know the person behind that role.
"Well, let me think. . ." Mum trailed, turning towards the sink to wash the remainder of the vegetables that she had just been cutting, off her hands. Wiping them on her apron, she took her time before facing me again.
"I guess I was about sixteen," she finally replied, her scrunched up brows indicating that she was deep in thought.
"Ah." I nodded, focusing my attention on the newspaper from the day before.
Now I had my answer. Therefore, if I waited until I was sixteen, Mum could not possibly be upset with me, since she had done it at that age herself, right? Right!
