We all have them. Mostly. I mean there are those that don’t see them, or don’t particularly care for them. There are those that have disowned them and live a blissful existence where they are never obliged to try and see them once a year so as to not feel like a complete bastard – even though a reciprocal visit is as unlikely as is a simple thanks for the present you sent their kids.
Heavens I am sure there are people out there who don’t have to like someone simply because they fell out of their vagina.
Okay so thinking about it I will admit that there are those who have, by fate or choice, simply ended up without any. But we’ve all had them at some point then. Let’s settle on that shall we.
Anyway my point was that I wanted to share a tale or two from mine this week.
I have two boys and like to think I’ve done my best and when last week the youngest looked most upset when watching a TV show about cancer patients and how 2 in 4 people will get the disease I thought “yeah, empathy, good qualities.” Mrs’ Afterwards eyes welled up as we were encouraged to dial in and pledge just £2 to cancer research and she looked over to Aterwards Junior and assured him that it was okay, it was just part of life, but before she was able to assure him further he explained that “fingers crossed it’s you and dad that get it” and not him and his brother..
I see a career in politics or the church for him surely.
There was also an incident at the end of a particularly tricky day with my eldest who, despite being a lovely gentle boy, is prone to outbursts of profanity when I am perhaps a little less understanding of his hormonal situation as I might be. He is 14 after all. Anyway, the boys were tucked in bed and I came down from checking on them and Mrs Afterwards insisted that wasn’t it good that he hadn’t once insisted I fuck off this evening. Straight faced.
To make it worse I actually agreed thinking yeah, I am fucking super dad!
The week though was crowned by a moment of such glorious madness that I believe I will be telling the tale for many a year.
A particular family member came out you see. After more than four and a half decades a certain someone decided that in fact he was gay and had been fighting it for many years and was ready to admit to it and see where that lead.
More wonderful than this act of self acceptance though was his mother’s response.
She insisted that if that was his choice then he better not use her tooth brush ever again and there was absolutely no way she would ever again eat any of his leftovers.
I mean what the fuck.
Dissect that as you will.
I mean does she think she will catch something from him using her toothbrush? To be fair I don’t want to share one with anyone regardless of who they choose to place themselves inside. Does she think she will catch syphilis if she eats his leftover sausage roll?
Does she think you can catch gay?
She is 75 so maybe she is worried she will eat half of his cheese and pickle sandwich and wake up desperate for a shaven headed tattooed lass to eat her out and then insist she fist her and there’s no way she can, not with her arthritic wrists?!?!
Oh god maybe Freddie Mercury got aids after sharing a family size bag of crisps with some bloke in a night club toilet?
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