The Fruitcake Conjecture

Post LXXVIII

Here’s the story of society, my parents, and joyous melancholy.

I often wonder how I come across to complete strangers. I find it quite amusing that in a society whereby individuality is actively encouraged, that there will always be some things that we’ll always be scared of, including this.

How do I think people see me?

Bit weird. Unusual attitudes and a complex array of attitudes at that. Seemingly contradictory inside a mind like one thousand incandescent flickering lights like the night sky. Quiet. Obliviously charming with a droopy exterior to match. Strangely thick brown eyebrows. Awful dress sense. A kind of mash-up between every shade of dull colour there is. Uncertain. Indecisive. Or not. Organized. The phrase ‘you can set your watch by him’. Liberal conservative. Spunky. No, wait, the opposite of that. What is the opposite? Lethargic? Hmm. It sounds about right.

Is it a case of nature or nurture? In my case, probably the latter.

This house is often like a circus act. I’ve always maintained that my mother and father unknowingly follow in the footsteps of some of the great comedy double acts. I think it’s part of the reason they’ve been together for just over 40 years.

Dad is very much the straight man. Mum is the comedian. The ‘unknowing’ part is that much of their comedy routine is purely accidental. It’s left an impression on me over the years. The life I have lived has been strange to say the least.

Take the other day as an example. Mother, like I, has not been well. She has a cold. And you know when a woman says that, it’s actually a cold. Father, like the kind and thoughtful gent he is, made her some hot chocolate and put it in a flask for her before they went to bed. So she could have it if she wanted it during the night. He got her some tissues, too. Aww. Like a Disney movie, isn’t it? Except not crap.

Whilst staggering toward bed, mum accidentally stepped on something on the floor, lurched forward, fell onto the bed and bit her lip. Cue gales of laughter. You always laugh in this house. You fall down, you laugh and get back up. This laughter, however, quickly escalated as dad, sitting on the edge of the other side of the bed, left the bed as mum landed on it.

Was this a comedic leap of faith into the air? Not quite. It was like a walrus had gently rolled off a tall wall. This caused my dad to get quite a sore head and sent him running to the bathroom. Something to do with choking because he was laughing so hard.

So now you’re thinking, all was well. Oh, no. This saga just kept on giving. Remember the flask of hot chocolate? Yes, well, it wasn’t in a conventional flask. There was no obvious way to open it, except for this big red button. So, as dad arrived back from the bathroom with tears still running down his eyes to a bed with mum starting to get comfy, she pressed that big red button.

Suddenly, steaming hot chocolate flew out of the flask, covering mum in a mixture of hot chocolate and steam. The laughter started again as dad fell out of bed landing on the bedroom floor (once more), paralyzed with stomach cramps from laughing so much. In a desperate attempt to stop this unpleasant fountain of chocolate, mum tried to drink it. Directly from the flask. Burning her lip, in exactly the same place as where she bit it but a moment earlier.

You can imagine my consternation as screams of all variety came flooding out from their bedroom across the landing. Those two were in hysterics and all I could do was sit there and stare at my bedroom door thinking, ‘here they go again’.

She was fine, by the way. She dunked her head in a bowl of cold water.

This sort of thing happens all the time around here. No wonder I’m like the way I am. I hope how people see me takes that sort of upbringing into consideration.

As mentioned, I haven’t been well, although I’ve been feverishly downing the extremely strong whisky to get rid of my cold (the old cures are still the best). It’s not just been a cold that has been troubling me this week, oh no. A migraine, a sore throat and the sniffles. Bad back. Dickey knee. Ageing horribly. A leaf blew in my eye. It was minus five Celsius on Friday morn, the ground was frosty and I stood on a bit of frozen grass and hurt my ankle slightly. I had a really bad hair day on Wednesday. Is any of this garnering sympathy? Imagine I’m doing that Puss in Boots sad eyed look at you. Not working? No? Really? Oh. Heartless fruitcakes.

It’s been a very cold and floody week. It’s also been yet another rather reflective week with a very faint possibility something interesting may happen for me sometime soon. Oh yes, this blog may yet tell an interesting story.

I wouldn’t bet a peanut on it happening, though.

American travel writer, humorist and magazine editor, Caskie Stinnett (1911-1998) once said: “The trouble with being a hypochondriac these days is that antibiotics have cured all the good diseases”.

Peace Out :|:

(I’d love to hear your thoughts on this post. You can leave a comment and/or like this post by clicking here and scrolling down to the bottom of the page. Feel free to check out my second and third blogs. Likes and follows greatly appreciated. Thanks)

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