Let’s do this together

My heart sank at the sight of so many teenage girls in disheveled school uniform filing in through the front door, clutching paintbrushes, chunky permanent marker pens and glitter spray.

No one was more relieved than me when The Dark Lordette grew out of crafternoons and started hanging out in shopping malls with her mates. The clean-up to homemade art ratio was always very weighted in favour of mess, and she still never clears up after herself properly.

“What’s happening?” I asked The Dark Lord, who was leading the teenage charge.

“We’re making our own Burn Book,” she revealed, hanging her school blazer over my head and walking off giggling with her mates. The smell of Impulse Body Spray, minty chewing gum and stale fag smoke hung in the air as they all trailed past me into the kitchen.

“What’s a Burn Book?” I innocently asked. She called out behind her: “Like in Mean Girls. We’re working on the kitchen table, OK?”

I groaned inwardly. If ever there was an advert for homeschooling, the movie Mean Girls was it. Starring a young Lindsay Lohan when she used to act for a living rather than turn up to beach parties in her underwear, the 2004 movie has served as a warning to generations of girls what happens when you want to join the cool gang at school.

“But the Mean Girls were right cows – why do you want to make their bitchy book?” I hurried after them, grabbing a mop and bucket and other cleaning tools.

When the teenage clump is on the move, it pays to be ready for anything. I’m still finding bits of desiccated food under the furniture from the last time they were all here, which says less about my cleaning and more about their group ability to infiltrate every space with their rotting detritus.

“Because they slay,” said one of the girls, who already had her grubby white shirt sleeves rolled up, a pen lid in her mouth, and was writing on a sheet of paper: “YOU FUGLY…” at which point I stopped her, and said, “I’m the only one allowed to swear in this house.”

The girls laughed, then completely ignored me. The Dark Lord asked for sandpaper, which was unexpected.

“Yeah we’re going to sand down the front of the book so we can paint it completely pink,” she said, pointing to a black A4 hardback book on the table.

I left them to get on with it, until they got bored, which was about 20 minutes.

Then went downstairs to scrub the table with turps and clean their paintbrushes, which they’d just abandoned in the sink.

I think I preferred the black Goth phase.

At least The Dark Lord hid in her bedroom and hated everyone. This girl-gang teenage phase is like the Disney toddler one, but with permanently staining acrylics.

Email me at siobhan.mcnally@mirror.co.uk or write to Community Corner, PO Box 791, Winchester SO23 3RP.