Yep.
I'm sitting behind my laptop and I HAVE TO ***.
But I can't get up, due to my TOTALLY IRRATIONAL fear that my parents would think I've stopped "working".
So I sit.
And I try not to *** IN MY PANTS.

Just another normal day behind the screen.

Eventually I just can't hold it anymore.
So I eeaase myself out of my chair....

"Darling, where are you going?"
"Uhm, nowhere, Mom, just the bathroom."
"You don't have your phone with you, do you? You're not just going to sit in there and....
text?"
"No, Mom. Phone's on the table."
"Alright then. Be quick."

I shoot off to the loo with my mother's resounding laughter in the background.

And it pains me because I know that I will never tell her my secret fear,
And that generations to come will be sitting awkwardly behind computers or whatever devices they have at that time,
And they will have to ***.
But they will be held back by the same IRRATIONAL fear that their parents will think they're being.....
unproductive.

Silence.
The typing of a computer.
A piano next door.
The clicking of a mouse.
The tap running, the toilet flushing.
Distant chatter from the house across the street.
A car on the road.
Footsteps.
The slow ceasing of a motor engine.
A dog barking.
The setting down of a briefcase.
The removing of shoes.
A chair being dragged across the floor.
A hand, patting another hand.
A man, singing in the night time.
Bare feet against a staircase.
The door opening.
The lightswitch.
The door closing.
Silence.