Conversations in my family. Version 101010110

Conversations within my family unit tend to be a little odd. I have examples.

As in, tonight.

Mum: *seeing me make another coffee* You love that mug, don't you?

Me: I love this mug. I adore this mug. I'm going to MARRY this mug. I'll have little mugheaded babies and drink coffee out of their brains.

Mum: ...right.

Me: *walking oast to reheat my coffee a little while later, smiling* Mug headed baaaabies.

Mum: no grandchildren of mine, god forbid you have any, are going to have mug heads.

Me: ...grandchildren? Plural? As in more than one?

Mum: you said babies. That indicates more than one.

Me: ...drat.

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Brother: *blinking and looking up* What?

Me: ...Hello cheeeeekin. What's goin down, M-dawg? What's shakin? where are you headed tonight?

Brother: ...city.

Me: where in the city?

Brother: ...city.

Me: ....right. okay. so. Northbridge, harbour town, freemantle, what?

Brother: .....City.

Me: ...Have you heard of something called the wheel?

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Grandad: This was nothing like when I was a younger man.

Me: When you were a younger man, they didn't have cars, the hubble telescope or fire.

Grandad: ...Or hearing aids.

Me: ...sneaky old bastard.

(grandad is irrevocably deaf. He can't hear jack shit without a hearing aid in.)

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Me: YOU KNOW, YOU ARE IMMENSELY ANNOYING WITHOUT YOUR HEARING AID IN. IF YOU PUT IT IN, YOU WOULD UDNERSTAND WHAT WE WERE SAYING. *said slowly, annunciating each word, forming coherent and concise letters*

Grandad: ...I didn't understand a word you just said.

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See? See what I have to put up with? D:

And then we come to the older conversations.


Conversation one, as of the other night:

My mother fell asleep on the back couch. The one outside. I was designated the "Bring the woman back INSIDE" spokesperson, so I wandered out there around one in the morning to rouse her.

The conversation went as thus:

"Mother, dearest, light of my life, brightest star in the strange looking velvet thing that's used as a backdrop for stargate. Time to get up and go to bed."

"Furroff."

It was eloquent. She's such a well spoken lady.

"No, I'm serious. You need to get to bed. You know, that invention they've had since the dawn of time?"

"Oh, they have not." She cracked an eye open then, glowering at me with enough heat to make the dog curl into a tighter ball in his bed. Either that or it was just cold.

"They have too. Beds are not a recent invention."

"I'm sure they didn't have a proper bed back then." She was waking up more, mildly disgruntled. My plan, it was working!

"Sure they did. It might have consisted of rocks and a dead bear, but they had beds! Which is more than I can say for you, oh queen of the couch and that one river in that one area around where Mesopotamia used to be."

"Oh, fuck off and go inside, you silly bitch. I'll come in when I'm ready."

I BARELY resisted locking the door after myself when I headed in.

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Also, from last year!

Mum: You're a dickwad.

Me: You can't call me that. I taught you that word. You can't call me that.

Mum: and I OWN you. I totally own you. I can call you whatever I choose.

Me: YOU MAY TAKE MAH PANTS, BUT YOU CANNAE TAKE MAH FREEDOM!

Mum: What?

Me: I reiterate. YOU MAY TAKE MAH PANTS those being jeans and wear of the under persuasion BUT YOU CANNAE TAKE MY FREEDOM

Mum: I CANNA TAKE WAHTEVER A WANTA!

Me: ...mum, it's supposed to be Scottish, not Italian.

Mum: you're not exactly speaking in Scottish either. What the hell is that meant to be?

Me: That's my Scottish accent!

Mum: it doesn't sound very Scottish.

Me: okay, so it's more like broken welsh.

Mum: Sounds more like - *trying to unlock the door, having a large amount of trouble seeing in the dark* I can't find my keyhole.

Me: ...I'm totally saying that now. When people are all "what accent is that?" I'll be all "I CANNAE FIND MAH KEYHOLE!"

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Again, from a long time ago.


Mum: I am going to go put my dressing gown on and go sit out with the dog because nobody else loves me?

Me: I don't see why I should love you if you can't find your keyhole.


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