My sister Etheline is a clever woman, an early riser and anal about furniture to be sure, but clever. However, every so often, I think that one of these goodly day I will stab Etheline in the eye with a blunt pair of scissors. Why? Because my clever sister becomes a dolt of the highest order. A nincompoop who wears pastel.Was she not dragged kicking and screaming from the same birth canal? Has she no sense? Has she no cop on? Has she no fucking idea what our mother is made of?
SPITE Etheline, you silly silly twit, pure unadulterated spite. If spite was a river then my fucking mother is the unsullied well from which it doth spring. She so spiteful she's zesty. She's filled to the double chin with it. She's choc-a-bloc full. If spite was a fuel we could plug my mother up to a machine a run generators off her that could keep the country going for years.
She needs no outlet, she needs no triggers, she's finely balanced up. Why would anyone add to her spiteliness? Why? Why Etheline why?
Let me explain.
A long time ago in Bethlehem, no wait, I've got that wrong.
Once upon a time, there lived a much put upon beautiful angelic, sweet-natured fairy princess called..erm...notfatmammycat.
Now this fairy princess lived with an evil stepmother (screw you jesus, I prayed long and hard and what did I get? Time to take matter into my own hands) and two hideous step-sisters, also there may have been a younger brother but he was of little use to anyone except to dress up and play Ivanhoe with.
Anyhoo. This poor princess was regularly ganged up on, bullied and made to have baths and wear horrible hand-me-downs, clothes that street urchins would reject in horror. Normally this was not much of a problem as the fairy princess spent rather a large amount of time covered in horse hair and manure and other assorted filth, and was quite happy to orbit under the radar and go about her day, plotting the demise of the step mother, studying the brake lines of her car, loosening the rug at the top of the stairs and reading up on whether foxgloves were really as poisonous as everyone claimed and would sugar hide the taste of it if it happened to get sprinkled onto of cornflakes ( it is, digitalis)...stuff like that occupied a good deal of the sweet and kindly mind of the fairy princess.
She might have gone on forever, plotting and eating crisp sambos were it not for that day, that evil fateful day when an enormous dark shadow fell across her and mother was its name.
But that day did come, and that day that will linger forever in the frontal lobe of the notfatmammycat. A day so dark and cold and filled with earwigs and headlice and cabbage and other stuff like earwax and almost sneezing but not quite at the last minute, horribleness. Oh that were a one, oh that was a one, oh that will a one. For it has no beginning nor end, nor sense.
The dark shadow spoke. It said, 'rarrrghgharrrghgglelerarrrghghghg srllllrarrgh?'
Or, as I deftly translated it, 'Isn't tomorrow casual clothes day?'
Only one day can instill fear into the heart of a newish teenager, with the social skills of an incontinent skunk.
Casual clothes day.
Oh verily, some of you might go 'so? what's she fooking on about now?" But I would say shut it southsiders. You know not of the horror that casual clothes day means to the younger female sibling who just so happens to attend a sodding school filled with teenage first wearers. FIRST WEARERS, I once heard that some of those girls even got to PICK their own clothes! Their clothes even FIT them!
She begged she pleaded, she groveled. Don't make me do it. She sobbed to the evil Stepmother. Leave me in uniform.
'The money goes to charity.' It replied, but evilly.
'You'd think you'd be delighted have a day out of uniform.' It replied, green eyes flashing madly.
'You'd be wrong.' She cried. 'Wrong and fat.' (actually the last bit might have been added in her head)
'You're going, honestly, I don't know what the fuss is about.'
'Well fook you anyway Ya hideous skank.' She bellowed inside. 'Butmayyyyyem,' she said aloud.
And so it came to pass. There the fairy princess was, adrift in a sea of denim and black, wearing a batwing jumper that was both polyester and canary yellow with the words 'RELAX" across the front and green trousers tucked gaily into grey suede boots with fringes.
Oh woe was her. She went to boarding school, and normally she would have just said, 'sure' and taken the clothes with her and never looked at them again until the following Friday. But this sodding casual clothes day was on a Monday so she had no sodding excuse. It was the longest day of her life-up to that point. But the real stupidity of it was that on leaving the house that morning the Fairy Princess, in a fit of, fairy pique, did borrow her evil step mother's silver dress watch.
Now true, the watch was lovely, and equally true it did not take much from the ensemble, but the fact that the fairy princess had struck one for the underdog cheered her right up, right up in fact until the following Thursday when she broke it in a mess basketball game.
A deep and dark terror fell over notfatmammycat. There is was, the glass face shattered, the hands still. What could she do?
Only one thing.
And so she did just that. No, she hadn't seen the watch at any time. No she didn't know what had happened to it. What watch? She said, 'Oh that watch, no I haven't seem it. Jeez, stop asking me.' And so on.
For many years the question of the missing watch would pop up now and then. The evil monster would-on occasion- look out the back window at her rockery and say, 'Raghghggarrgfaggle?' or 'I wonder whatever happened to my watch?' But by this stage everyone, evil sisters alike had been accused of its vanishing and so the universal eye-rolling would begin.
It should have stayed that way too, there was no reason for a cold case style opening. Nor would there have been had not notfatmammycat drank some rum with one of the evil step sisters in her twenties, and revealed finally, the mystery of the watch.
There is clearly a limit to how long fatcats can keep shit to themselves. And that limit seems to be about eight years or so. For now, as I sit here typing, one ear cocked for the phone, I can recount to you what the evil sister told notfatmammycat late last night.
'Hah, Mum's going to kill you.'
'She knows it was you that took the watch that time.'
'And how would she know such a thing?'
'Oh, she was doing her usual.'I wonder whatever happened to my watch' routine on the weekend and I started to laugh.'
'Come on, it's funny.'
'Etheline, you didn't tell her it was me did you?'
'Jesus, come on, it was years ago.'
'I've got to go.'
'Wait, are you seriously telling me-'
'That you're an idiot and a big mouth? yes I am.'
'Oh for God's sake.'
I wonder is it too late to move, or hire assassin? I wonder where the foxgloves grow around here? I'm only asking for a friend.
Have you every done anything in your youth that you thought you had gotten away with, only to have it creepy crawl its way right back to you? WELL?
Labels: Mother. Why is she still living so robustly?