Tags: mum

Cowthulhu

Exchange of the Day

Please feel free to top this!

Me (Having Temporarily Channelled Woody Allen): I mean here I am, half my life gone by, and...

My Mum (Being My Mum. Think Dour. Think Scottish): You don't know that!

Me: Well...

Mum: You could drop down dead tomorrow!


Dammit! I was out-dried! And it worked.

Bow down and worship my mother. It's quicker and easier!
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modigliani

Open Mouth, Insert Lower Appendages (Plural)

It's been a skirt-caught-in-knickers day. Actually, it's´been a skirt-caught-in-knickers life week so far. Not unpleasant per se, just the feeling one has that something is amiss or soon shall be revealed to be so or else pushed out of kilter by one's own maladroitness.

Take Sunday, for instance. I call my Mummy (or she calls me)on Sunday mornings. On Saturday evening we went round to Claus's house and had goose, so I told her about that.

"What is goose like?", she asked.

"Kind of like a cross between beef and turkey," I explained [NB: Any major newspaper editors surfing on in, I am available for work as a restaurant and food critic. Call me anytime!].

I then found myself explaining that goose is quite a fatty meat and that Claus had come in to show us a huge jar of fat that he had decanted. I, having had a glass of wine on an empty stomach that evening, made the 'witty' comment, "No Claus! You won't get any money for that! The sperm will all die!" I heard myself, as if in a dream, report this to my mother.

There was silence at the end of the line, and then my mother weakly said, "So goose fat looks like that then?" before abruptly and determinedly starting a new line of conversation.

Well... I can guess what we won't be having for Christmas dinner then...