Parents are terrible

These people had sex. DISGUSTING.
In the catalogue of horrors to which a young person can be subjected there is little else more terrifying than the knowledge of your parents "doing it".

Luckily for me, I come from a broken home with parents that were splitsville long before I had any real idea of what sex was. While the disadvantages of growing up in a single-parent home are numerous, the whole "not having your parents getting frisky in the next room" thing is a significant bonus. Not that I was aware of that particular silver lining at the time. Indeed I was very much unaware, blissfully so.

And yet, parents being parents, they still find a way of embarrassing you. It seems my mother was simply biding her time, and eventually she took the opportunity to scar me emotionally.

It happened one day when I was in my late teens. My mum and I were out with my aunt and her son (my cousin) and we were in her van just turning off Avonside Drive onto the bridge and into Gloucester St when my mother, somewhat gleefully exclaimed "Look dear, that's where you were conceived" as she gestured towards a rundown looking flat... over a fish and chip shop.

The horror, dear reader, was unimaginable. 

For one thing, my mother was willfully reminding me that she and my father used to have sex. Gah! Secondary to this was that they did so in the sort of place that you could well imagine drug deals going down. Ick! And that's where sperm met ova and 38 years later here I am writing a blog about it. Euwh!

Then things got worse, at least for my cousin.

"Oh, and you were probably conceived there too, D."

My cousin is 6 months older than me so I imagine that he was experiencing much the same teenage turmoil at the idea of his parents bumping uglies as I was. I don't remember him saying anything, but I definitely objected, voicing my outrage with something like "What? Mum, that's so gross!"

Turns out my parents, my dad's brother and his girlfriend (my aunt), and variable siblings all used to live in the 3 bedroom flat over what was then a butchers shop. Apparently the butcher was quite nice and used to give them discounts on meat. If this weren't my mother I were writing about there'd be a perfectly serviceable sausage double entrendre here.

And why am I telling you any of this? Well, because of the following text which I received from mother dearest yesterday:

"The place of your conception is being pulled down! what a sad day! lol."

On the one hand I quite like the idea of this place being erradicated. If only the bulldozers could demolish the memory too. On the other, my mother has used "lol" in a text message immediately after expressing a feeling of sadness. Hmm.

I suppose, in some ways I do feel a little sad that yet another piece of my personal history is being demolished, even if it's a piece that I don't want to think too hard about.

Did your parents ever scar you with the knowledge of the place of your conception? Has anyone got a less auspicious beginning than a flat over a butchers shop?