Angry Birds.

When my teenage daughter isn’t squeezing spots she does not know what to do with her hands. I mean it. It is something that I became aware of this week when we went to see the doctor about her feet.

Arriving twenty minutes early, I suggested to her that we nip into a nearby department store to buy her a few much needed t-shirts for the summer. Unfortunately she did not hear me. She was walking ten metres behind, plugged into her Ipod. Her face was twisted with anger and her hands, usually squeezing spots, were on her hips.  Her fists clenched like she wanted a fight. “What are you listening too?” I mouthed. She ignored me and marched past. I pulled out an earplug and seizing the moment, stuck it into my ear. It was Katie Perry, ‘Firework’, hardly the kind of music to make you want to punch someone. Not like Ten Inch Nails or Iron Maiden.

“Are you feeling ok?” I asked. “SHUT UP” she replied, plugging herself back into Katie Perry. Hands back on hips, she followed me into the chemist dragging her feet like two enormous sandbags with her. “Do you need anything from here?” I asked, hovering about beside the sanitary products. “NO”. Every day I hope that this behaviour is hormone related. It never is. Purchasing headache tablets and odour eaters we headed to the foot expert.

“Take off your shoes and walk up and down,” the doctor said to my daughter. She did as she was told. Hands on hips, frowning and dragging her feet along like two dead bodies. “Now listen to ME,” said the expert with a stern authority that made me shudder. “If you don’t do what I say, your feet will never get better. Do you understand?” My daughter, hands still on hips grunted.  “Pick up your feet”. She did. I looked at the expert and wondered if the rumours were true. Someone told me this woman was a wild punk rocker in the Eighties.  Would she ever have expected, years later, to be wearing Ecco shoes, Marks and Spencer twin set and a white coat and shouting at flat footed moody teens. Half an hour later, orthotics ordered we left.

Moments later, my daughter was again ten metres behind me. Hands on hips, a face like thunder and feet like lead. I couldn’t help myself. I waited for her to catch up and pulled out her music (To a teenager that is like switching off their life support machine). “If you walk along with your hands on your hips, you look so, so angry. Please, just for today, can you not walk along with your hands like that?” 

Fists clenched and still on firmly hips she yelled, “WHAT ELSE AM I SUPPOSED TO DO WITH THEM? Her reply caught me on the hop. I had not thought about it. What do other teenagers do? I looked around. A teenager walked by, a male, with hands in his pockets. My teenager has no pockets. Another couple, teenager girls, walked by with their arms folded. “That?” I said, pointing at them. She rolled her eyes and kept her hands firmly in their place.  Another teenager walked by with a cigarette in one hand and a can of lager in the other.  Luckily my teenager didn’t see, she was too busy starring at her face in a shop window.

Once home I asked friends what their teenagers did with their hands. Almost all the mothers of boys gave the same answer, “Always in their pockets” except one. “He hangs them there, at the side. Never moves them, even when he runs. Like two wooden oars. Lifeless. Drives me mad”.  Was my daughter the only one to walk with them, fist clenched, on her hips? I was feeling paranoid. Perhaps she should take up boxing. Ireland is producing top female boxers at the moment.  Is this how boxers like Katie Taylor walk?

My sister came up with the solution. “I’d probably do the same if I didn’t have a handbag to hold onto”. HANDBAGS? Then it dawned on me. That is why women carry handbags. Because if we didn’t, we’d go around with our hands on our hips looking like we wanted a fight because out teenage daughters are driving us insane.  Now all I had to do was convince my daughter that she wanted a handbag and she'd not walk around like an angry bird. A new handbag wouldn’t go down well. She wears hoodies, slippers and leggings all day and would be quite happy carrying her belongings in a shopping trolley or a bin liner. 

Just as I was about to begin my handbag search, a safety conscious friend offered me some words of warning. She said that my daughter could end up with a severe facial injury.  “If she trips over and is holding onto a handbag with both hands, she’ll not break her fall will she? She could end up with a broken nose. Think about what you are doing. Could you live with the guilt?”  

So now I am left considering my options. Do I bite my tongue and say nothing about the 'fisty hips' for the next few years or do I buy her a handbag putting her at risk of a serious head injury if she falls? Someone please sent up a forum for parents on this serious matter. Before I start throwing punches.