The TV remote is mine again. Oops, I mean it's ours again. (Think Tui ad here).
I will no longer be banished to the loo at the far end of the house.
No longer will I be required to interrogate, I mean interview, prospective suitors for worthiness while said child takes an age to get changed for a date.
An aside here, one of Boomerang Child's long-time pals, presumably with designs on something a little more permanent, has landed a plum job with a major alcohol distributor. Out of the blue a package arrived for me containing all manner of the sponsor's product.
I have to admit some admiration for Brewery Boy's determination to impress me. I just wonder what he would have sent if he was selling sports cars for Ferrari.
Anyway, I digress. So Boomerang Child has gone and it's just us again.
Of course, I'm sure we are not the only parents going through this particular stage at the moment. There are thousands out there whose kids have just headed off to uni or the like.
Us dads have checked the oil and tyre pressure in the car, stuck a little bit of emergency cash in the wallet, given the mandatory drive safe and don't do drugs message and squeezed the child into the last remaining bit of space in the car.
I've walked away from that vehicle with oil on my palms happy in the knowledge that, even though I am not very good at things automotive I've done my bit.
Come to think of it, was it oil I put in? I can't seem to find that creosote I've had sitting in the bottle on the garage shelf. Groan. I've made that mistake before ages ago. Better double check.
And what about all those mums out there? They have washed and ironed every bit of the child's clothing imaginable and packed all the warm stuff - just in case the next ice age should occur while the little cherub is away from home.
There is also apparently some comfort in knowing if Boomerang Child should be struck by a bus on her travels and require hospitalisation she has a week-long supply of "sensible" undies with her, all neatly packed by mum.
So three has become two and we, like other parents, are learning to cope. Naturally we miss Boomerang Child just like all the other mums and dads miss their kids, despite what we might say outwardly.
But I think we'll manage, though I have to say the remote feels decidedly unwieldly and the brightness and freshness of the loo at this end of the house is giving me a headache.
Luckily it's not all bad.
When passion flares I can grab Mrs P in the kitchen and not hear the words "get a room you two". I tried it after a casual saunter the other day and discovered, through Mrs P's initial scream followed by a cutting remark, there's a time and place for celebrating one's independence.
Apparently Boomerang Child is not the only one in need of "sensible" undies.
Kevin Page has been a journalist for 34 years. He hasn't made enough money to retire after writing about serious topics for years so he's giving humour a shot instead.
