The Tale of How This Sheep Can Limbo


Here’s the story of fancy footwear, confrontation and a kettle.

The excandescence highly visible on father’s face was one in the same with that of his hand. His wailful wibble hardly subsided as I was incapacitated with perverted laughter leading to a complete inability to help. I think it was because of his never-say-never attitude and his determination to achieve his goal that made it funny. Sure, it seems like a situation that wouldn’t warrant any laughter, but you had to be there. That was a man repeatedly splashing himself with hot tea. A man who had lost his lid and probably his sanity.

The amount of tea that was split was alarming. The amount of tea spillage that would cause a typical Englishman to faint, usually a swoon with a handkerchief draped across one’s brow. And we don’t spill tea lightly. In this particular situation, I was contemplating grabbing a straw and trying to drink the remains of my beverage. Or possibly scooping it up and putting it back in the cup. Somehow.

I was in the kitchen for a good few minutes before I started to notice dad’s strange behaviour. He had his fingers in my tea, frantically swishing them about. The tea was splashing everywhere. Turns out, as he was pouring my tea, the kettle lid flew off and landed in the cup. A lid the exact diameter of the cup. He was determined to get that lid out. And I was determined to get out of the kitchen before I had a seizure.

These occurrences are fairly common in my life.

Unfortunately, it was to be the last time father would speak to me this week. I think it’s been five days. Fairly harsh. We haven’t always gotten along. In the old days, it was less the silent treatment and more the nosiest treatment possible. Nowadays, in his old age, he just ignores me instead. It’s a common misconception that shy people like being left alone. We like company. It’s when we have no company that it becomes unbearable.

We avoid confrontation. I don’t think I’ve ever shouted at anyone. Oh aye, I have angry rants on my blogs, but these are like vents. Because I can’t shout elsewhere. The shy are bound by a set of rules that are unbreakable. One such rule is the one about not shouting. Other rules include, ‘No Fancy Footwear’. We don’t like our feet. I don’t know why. Shorts are grey area. I’m anti-shorts. I have very hairy legs, but it looks weird because the rest of me isn’t that hairy at all. I’m like a half-shaved abominable snowman. My point is, when we have complaints, we’re not that good at expressing them. You have to interpret our eye twitches. Not easy if you’re a twitchy person like I am.

I’ve never been good in confrontations. When I look after babies, I’m the one who can’t shout at them. Big eyes. Sad face. “Aww, I’m sorry. Did I raise my little voice? Aw, you’re so upset. Here, have a bucket of ice cream”, I say to the baby. I’d like to say I’m good at the softer stuff, like cuddles. Whilst I do like the cuddles, the babies don’t. Always trying to get away. It’s as if they’re trying to tell me something.

Once in a while, the shy do snap. Happened twice to me. One was just stupid. One put me in hospital and out of school for three months. When we’re young, we’re fine. Everyone thinks, ‘Oh, that fight was so cool’. Indeed. But when we’re old, everyone thinks we’re weird. What it is about people who don’t talk much that other people don’t like? They look at you as if you’re every child from every horror movie ever made. Sometimes, it’s fun to stare back. That’s our level of humour. We like the attention, just stop staring at us.

It’s when there’s no attention that the edges can fray. Look at me. I spend my days trying to find something to do waiting in desperate hope that a job will show up that somebody with no talent in anything whatsoever can do. I have my parents for company, but now even one of them isn’t talking to me because of a stupid argument about nothing really.

I can handle it. I’ve spent my life handling it. People ignoring me just because I’m incapable of verbal or physical reciprocation is normal. Doesn’t mean we don’t have a heart. Nothing I can do about my dad, but I’ll repeat what I’ve said time and time again. If you know a shy person, know of a shy person or even see one or somebody who looks alone, just say hello. Morning. Good day, sir. You have literally no idea how effective that is.

It’s my dad’s birthday soon. My 23rd birthday a week later. And my nephew’s first birthday two weeks later (birthday’s are like buses in this family). I hope all will be well by then. I’ve got a few things planned for father. He may be 63 – I think – should really ask about that – and he may be incredibly angry with me, but I’ll always love him. Don’t hold grudges would be my advice. You’ll regret it. The best way to win a war is to stop fighting.

Yes, I’ve been in a funny mood this week. Started funny, ended funny in a completely different way. You can probably sense that in my tone. I’m in a bit of an emotional limbo.

It’s like regular limbo, but at the end of it, you get shot.

English comedian and writer, the late, great, legendry Les Dawson (1934-1993), once said: “My wife sent her photograph to the Lonely Hearts Club. They sent it back saying they weren’t that lonely”.

Peace Out :|:

I’d love to hear your thoughts on this post. You can leave a comment and/or like this post below, or by clicking the little bubble on the top right if you are on the Archives Page. Likes and follows greatly appreciated. Thanks.

Please feel free check out the latest posts from my other two blogs:

To Contrive & Jive
Latest Post: Click Here For The Latest Post

Hark Around The Words
Latest Post: Click Here For The Latest Post


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