I know you’re all eager to hear about the gig, but that’s still being typed up. Also, these posts have been “posted” at some arbitrary point when I have had access to the internet, and will appear once-a-day to once-in-few-days, automatically. If, at some point, it looks like I’m being rude by continuing to post without responding to your comments—you know why.
One of the other perks of being delayed a day was to get to spend another day with mum. This gave us the chance to talk (some more), and the kinds of topics that eventually arose were absolutely hilarious. Now, brace yourselves for this (swallow that liquid you’re tasting and re-tasting, NOW!), and don’t say I didn’t warn you.
Apparently, (really) random people have been getting in touch with her—wanting to know what plans she has for her “nice” son, now that he is of “marriageable age”.
(Apparently, once the word’s out that you’ve crossed puberty, anything’s game. On a side note, I still haven’t found my Adam’s apple after much searching.)
No seriously, I could be a serial psychopath or an axe murderer for all they know. Just how the hell do they come to the conclusion I’m “nice”? Better yet, even if I am “nice”, why would that imply I would be ready for, or even want to, marry their daughters? It doesn’t stop there, they’re apparently eager with numerous details—starting with the usual ones like “how qualified they are” down to the more abstruse “check out my daughter’s complexion”.
Apart from the obvious “stop stalking my son”, slamming phones and so on, my calm demeanor resulted in being asked, “Oh, so H, what should I do about these calls?”. I contemplated the most obnoxiously humourous answer I could pull off; you know the one going something like, “Only innies, no outies, no flat-filed nails, only tapered…” and much much more.
My real answer however, I leave to your imagination to conjure up.