Let the Christmas games begin.
'What are you going to do about our mother?'
'Do? What do you mean?'
'Well, what are you going to do about her?'
'I'm gong to do exactly what do the rest of the year, I'm going to pretend I was found under a cabbage patch by a kind but penniless local woman who deposited me into the loving arms of my father not realising he had been tricked into marrying the purpliest piranha to ever walk upright.'
'It's Christmas.'
'Piranhas don't celebrate Christmas.'
'She says she's coming to our house this year.'
'Well then.'
'She says she's not coming if you're going to be there. She says she'll have a bite to eat in a local hotel.'
'Hahah, aw, the stench of burning martyr. Did she use my actual name or call me 'that one'?'
My sister sighs.
'Tell her not to worry her enormous hole about it. I'm going to the Paramour's Pappy's house, at least he makes Yorkshire Puds.'
'I told you they're not traditional.'
'Traditional? Come off it, anyway you could always start a new tradition, it's not like we even go to mass.'
'Are you going to talk to her at all?'
'No.'
'I see. Well I think you're both being very stupid.'
'Quite.'
'What?'
'Oh sorry I thought I was typing.'
'You know someday she'll be gone.'
'Every body keeps saying that and yet I have seen no evidence to back up that assertion.'
'There really is a pair of you in it.'
'You know darling, you're quite right. I'm wrong, she's wrong and two wrongs don't make comfortable silence.'
'Have you heard what that Kevin bought Etheline?'
'No. What?'
'A day in a spa.'
'Hawhawhawwwwhaw.'
'Seriously. Can you imagine Etheline in a spa?'
'I can imagine Etheline being a spa.'
'Hhahahaha.'
And so we got off the thorny subject of the Lilac Couch and landed arse first in the pyracantha bush that is Etheline with the greatest of slithery ease.
I will be at Pappy's this year, there will be Yorkshire Puddings. He doesn't normally make them either, but he's not bound by faux traditions and willful women.
I dedicate today's eighties video to all that is good about pudding and sticky and gooey about families.
'Do? What do you mean?'
'Well, what are you going to do about her?'
'I'm gong to do exactly what do the rest of the year, I'm going to pretend I was found under a cabbage patch by a kind but penniless local woman who deposited me into the loving arms of my father not realising he had been tricked into marrying the purpliest piranha to ever walk upright.'
'It's Christmas.'
'Piranhas don't celebrate Christmas.'
'She says she's coming to our house this year.'
'Well then.'
'She says she's not coming if you're going to be there. She says she'll have a bite to eat in a local hotel.'
'Hahah, aw, the stench of burning martyr. Did she use my actual name or call me 'that one'?'
My sister sighs.
'Tell her not to worry her enormous hole about it. I'm going to the Paramour's Pappy's house, at least he makes Yorkshire Puds.'
'I told you they're not traditional.'
'Traditional? Come off it, anyway you could always start a new tradition, it's not like we even go to mass.'
'Are you going to talk to her at all?'
'No.'
'I see. Well I think you're both being very stupid.'
'Quite.'
'What?'
'Oh sorry I thought I was typing.'
'You know someday she'll be gone.'
'Every body keeps saying that and yet I have seen no evidence to back up that assertion.'
'There really is a pair of you in it.'
'You know darling, you're quite right. I'm wrong, she's wrong and two wrongs don't make comfortable silence.'
'Have you heard what that Kevin bought Etheline?'
'No. What?'
'A day in a spa.'
'Hawhawhawwwwhaw.'
'Seriously. Can you imagine Etheline in a spa?'
'I can imagine Etheline being a spa.'
'Hhahahaha.'
And so we got off the thorny subject of the Lilac Couch and landed arse first in the pyracantha bush that is Etheline with the greatest of slithery ease.
I will be at Pappy's this year, there will be Yorkshire Puddings. He doesn't normally make them either, but he's not bound by faux traditions and willful women.
I dedicate today's eighties video to all that is good about pudding and sticky and gooey about families.
Labels: Lilac Couches are toxic
posted by fatmammycat at 9:25 a.m.
13 Comments:
Oh sorry I thought I was typing.
...tickled my funny bone so it did.
Morning, your Ferrero Rocher server.
Many hmms about this, for all that I join in the Lilac lollicking on a regular basis.
I do know somoneone who hasn't spoken with their mother for nearly 30 years. They are estranged, with every nuance that word conveys. That's the way it'll stay, to the death, and on into the afterlife if there is one.
Either you and the Lilac one forgive each other the 'sins' of the past or you don't, because maybe the wrong was too great or the hurt too deep. If that's how it is, then that's likely how it'll stay.
I'd say on an off over the last decade we've spent approx 7/8 years not talking at all. We've gotten pretty used to it by now. We're dab hands at ignoring each other; albeit learning vicariously through others what we're up to.
Ah, the martyrdom of the Irish Mammy. I think thats the 13th station of the cross, isn't it?
heh, if it isn't it ought to be.
"Tell her not to worry her enormous hole about it."
HA!
Well yes, rude but I was irked.
Why is other people's family trauma so amusing, yet our own such a pain in the netherlands? This is why I am spending Christmas with my paramour's fambly this year and clearly passing it off as an act of charity (it also helps that he is from New York and his fambly live on Manhattan - hooray!). Anyway, enjoy the puddin'.
A Manhatten Christmas! How delightful.
I will enjoy the puds, I will make them into gravy lakes and float little carrots on top. Or maybe I'll make carrot icebergs...hmm, either way there will be much gravy involved.
I love that he's not bound by faux traditions and willful women.
I think you've hit upon one of the best things about having a significant other: you get a choice of families. Even if you find both patience-trying from time to time, they rarely throw you into a funk simultaneously.
And where I get mountains of mashed potatoes and gravy and deep-fried turkey at the one, I get a table-full of delicious desserts at the other. Just my luck, it's a dessert-house year and I've got a serious thing for sweets going.
He's bound by nought Red, truth be told. I admire him very much. He rolled into his seventies and decided he'd reached an age where he really didn't give a hoot for convention.
Mmm gravy, I would love masahed potoatoes and gravy right now, or a mashed potato mountain surrounded by a lava pool of baked beans.
I may have to go to the spuermarket soon.
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