Nobody Is Prefect.

Men, as far as a generilsation are concerned, are accused of many broad condemnations. For instance leaving the toilet seat up is considered a major faux pas in any female centric residence. As someone partial to what one might consider a “posh wee”, the toilet seats positioning has never presented an issue in my household. The toilet lid on the other hand, well that’s for another time. The issues that have presented themselves as a result of cohabitation with my partner and my similarly inclined daughter stem from growing up in a space that was mostly my own. My sister and I always had separate bedrooms, with any interactions reserved for the dinner table or brief moments between our respective endeavous. So I always enjoyed the freedom of my own little enclosure, free from the scrutiny of perennial domestic partnership. And other than the ineffectual remonstrations of my poor weary mother, my room was my domain. Of course this liberation merely entailed that my clothes were habitually strewn across any surface I deemed appropriate to disrobe. My invaluable time could be expended playing innumerable quantities of games and movies. And my inherent compunction for the emphatic rhythms of Metal and it’s varying, often eclectic sub-genres, were emitted with such reverberating intensity that you’d be mistaken for thinking that the devil himself was moshing in my bedroom. Of course the censorship of parental responsibility deprives you from the rousing growl’s of METAL! Apparently children are sensitive to the energetic tumult of Slayer. Though this style of music is confined to the sanctuary of my ear phones or if I’m lucky a vacant household, I still have to tolerate the musical flatulance of [insert popular music artist here]. Suffer the tiresome bombardment of children’s television. And endure the deafening snoring of my partner, that is produced with such ferocity, by nostrils that are presumably designed to propel shotgun shells. This is the life of individuals, with their own selfish needs, desires and little idiosyncrasies, that are always conflicting with those you have to live with. For the most part living with those you love is about compromise. It’s accepting that certain concessions have to be made if a relationship is going to succeed. But sometimes relationships require you to simply acquiesce. To succumb to the requests that is demanded of you. That could be something as simple as taking your daughter to the cinema to watch “Derivative: the movie”. Or sacrificing an evening of gaming to socialise with your partner and her obnoxious friends. It’s about the delicate equilibrium of balancing your own selfish behaviour, while being conscientious of your families demands. Relishing the opportunity to spend valuable social time with your family, while still conserving your own interests and identity. But it’s also about being astute enough to realise that you are outnumbered.