| [April 08 2004] |
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Put the trolley down, Mum and move away. Slowly.
So I didn't post for a day or two. So sue me.
That's the problem with being home. I tend to be happy, rather than angry. And as John Cleese once said, once he had therapy and ended up happy, he just wasn't as funny any more.
Mind you, I flew half way around the world to see my seven-year-old niece for Easter. I even turned up a day early to surprise her and when the front door opened, she was, indeed, gobsmacked. And then her first words were:
"But Auntie, your hair is really STRANGE."
She hadn't seen the two-tone New York affair. She last saw me when I was boring. I guess the new me takes some getting used to. I admit I was crushed, though.
But today I had a flashback. My niece Lily and I went to Waitrose. If you lot look here, you'll see that Waitrose is the supermarket for rich people. When I was rich, I would have chewed off my own arm, and eaten it, lightly dusted in my own vomit, rather that shop anywhere else, Amanda. Now I am poor. But I enjoy food, so I still go there. I just rob banks and moonlight as a crack whore to afford it.
Anyway. I was in Waitrose and I had almost everything I needed to make our family's famous "Lily Meatballs" ( that's meatballs made with beef, spring onions, allspice, cinammon -simmered in a tomato, garlic, sugar sauce and served with freash spaghetti - TASTES FUCKING NICE, AMANDA, TRUST ME ), when I realised I hadn't got some nice crusty french bread to go with it. So I said to Lily (after whom the dish is named, because she makes the meatballs for me): "Hang on a minute, I've just got to get some bread. Stay there and don't move a muscle. I'll be back in a minute!".
The moment I said it, as I dashed off up the aisle for just 30 seconds worth of abandonment, I remembered it all.
My mother.
In Waitrose.
Abandoning us.
When we were kids, my mother always had to take us shopping with her, as she was in college full-time, no nanny or au pair, and my father was off on oil-rig rotating parts conferences in Norway every week. We invariably went to Waitrose in Temple Fortune after school. We got to choose a sweet for under 10 pence and she always, without fail, abandoned us at the checkout.
These days I'm embarrassed if my hair looks bad (or even normal, I guess), I leak during a period or if someone is killed when I really ought to have been looking after them. In those days, I was embarrassed just being alive.
And the worst fear of all (apart from my mother getting drunk and calling somone at my eighth birthday party a "cunt"), was abandonment at the checkout. Every time she dashed off saying: "Oooh, I forgot the horseradish, I'll be back in a minute", I contemplated the line of groceries and the possibility that she would never come back. Or that she'd be arrested or something. Anything was possible and probable. She once got into a fight in Waitrose. Fisticuffs and everthing. Christmas Eve. I'm not sure I can talk about that yet.
I didn't know what I wanted most - for my mother to come back or for her to never come back and for me to be put in an orphanage. Even Miss Hannigan seemed preferable to my mother at some stages.
The agony.
COME BACK!
I'm so embarrassed that I go to a really posh school and I've been abandoned!
DON'T COME BACK!
You're a loony and I'm scared of you.
COME BACK!
The girls at school will be horrid if I have divorced parents, particuarly if my mother is a "slut who abandoned her children in Waitrose".
DON'T COME BACK!
I'll save on the therapy bills in later life.
COME BACK!
Can't think of a reason, but I suppose I mean it.
DON'T COME BACK!
Would I have been weirder if you hadn't?
COME BACK!
Yes. Reluctantly, I admit, yes.
So I raced back to Lily, who seemd to have suffered no harm and didn't miss me at all. She's either my litmus test on sanity, or they breed them tougher these days. She calls me "Aunty Poo Head", so figure it out for yourselves.
Posted by eurotrash at 7:00 pm |
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[Comments count: 26] |
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1: Don't worry, sweety. We will never abandon any of our bots, even though their manufacturer's warranty may have expired long ago.
Want an embarassing one? When I was around 8, my dad bought me an Atari for Christmas. it was supposed to be a surprise, so on the day he was going to set it up with some of his friends in our living room, he grounded me so I couldn't leave my room and see it.
I, of course, knew enough of the story to know there were people other than me in the living room playing video games, and I was persona non grata. My mother tells me I was crying NON-STOP for hours. They were wondering if they might have to take me to the hospital for dehydration, and were force-feeding me water. And I was usually the quiet child, never complained or whined about anything.
Ironically, the Atari wouldn't work on our TV, and I had to wait almost 15 years before I owned a PC with which I could play games. Thus was born my overwhelming sense that everyone will inevitably abandon and betray me.
Doesn't everyone have one of these?
Posted by Jellyguy at 9:43 pm on 04.08.04 |
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2: I don't think you're ready for this, Jelly.
Nice sob story, but this is the big leuges of childhood trauma flashbacks. Drunk parents are really only concerned with their own hydration.
Posted by abandonedlicious at 11:53 pm on 04.08.04 |
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3: I don't have a similar tale to tell, but I also call you Aunty Poo Head.
I suppose at least I was abandoned at birth so I don't have the memory to scar me.
And the meatballs sound divine!
Posted by JenB at 1:33 am on 04.09.04 |
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4: Kids never like it when you change your hair.
Posted by Lux at 2:05 am on 04.09.04 |
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5: Perhaps, but I have a hunch that the effect is the same.
My father may not have been drunk, but he might as well have been, with his legendary temper. Being tied to a chair and belted - that's an education.
Posted by Jellyguy at 3:18 am on 04.09.04 |
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6: Oh, boy, am I smashed.
Posted by Jellyguy at 3:19 am on 04.09.04 |
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7: Two-tone hair? Geez, how ghetto can you be?
Posted by Mick at 3:33 am on 04.09.04 |
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8: Jelly, *reaches across small round table in a dimmly lit mexican resturaunt* ... let's not tell our sad stories.
Posted by maguirelicious at 6:26 am on 04.09.04 |
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9: Wow. On the one hand, I want you to be happy, ET. But on the other hand, well, the John Cleese quote pretty much covers it. I'd commiserate with you and Jellyguy, but my youth was pretty uneventful. Like a thousand old novels once said, "We were poor, but happy!"
Posted by rasputin at 8:00 am on 04.09.04 |
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10: Right, so obviously you're working on the "Fisticuffs" story over the weekend, yes?
In other news, sac has gotten a real job, and has no time for us any longer.
Let's see; Krucoff now wears a "borscht belt;" Maccers refuses to change her horrid orange blog, and Jellyguy has gone off the deep end.
Oh, and Sterling and sac "bonded" while you're gone. It was a blogging breakthrough.
Posted by turbulent priest at 8:25 am on 04.09.04 |
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11: It was thoroughly revolting.
Makes me want to vomit almost as much as my current state of hangoveredness.
Posted by Jellyguy at 9:13 am on 04.09.04 |
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12: Auntie Poo Head? I guess your niece has been reading your blog.
Posted by sac at 11:36 am on 04.09.04 |
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13: Or she's commenting on the malevolent hairdo.
Posted by Jellyguy at 12:16 pm on 04.09.04 |
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14: THe Sugar in the Tomatoe Sauce (my EYE-TEE friends call it gravy) takes the acidity from the sauce. How very Brit!
Posted by Bwana from Beantown at 12:36 pm on 04.09.04 |
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15: Would the two tone sauce go with the hair?
Posted by Bwana from Beantown at 12:37 pm on 04.09.04 |
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16: My Mother never abonded us (though she did an excellent passing-off-to-relatives whenever possible), but she DID leave me by myself when I got my sneaker stuck in the escalator at Macy's downtown.
I guess I was hollering to loud and she went to summon the authorities. I DID get a free pair of sneakers out of the deal!
Posted by Bwana from Beantown at 12:40 pm on 04.09.04 |
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17: Italians put sugar in the tomato sauce too. It really does cut the acidity.
Posted by Larry at 1:00 pm on 04.09.04 |
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18: Yes, it's a good idea, works very well. You have to be careful not to use too much, though, or end up with something that might be sold in America. Just a pinch is fine.
Wait - there's no wine in that sauce.
Posted by fridgemagnet at 1:50 pm on 04.09.04 |
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19: how's that cheap limey crack treating you, you cheap limey crack?
Posted by your dealer at 5:01 pm on 04.09.04 |
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20: Sounds like your niece's mind is already being warped into a strange poo obsession by her aunty. Great story, though. Touching, meaningful, cute.
Happy Easter!
Posted by Chris at 1:11 pm on 04.11.04 |
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21: AND YOU THOUGHT IT WOULD BE A BAD EASTER FOR YOU?
"Actors Whip Easter Bunny at Church Show"
GLASSPORT, Pa. (AP)--First, the Passion of the Christ. Now, the torment of the Easter Bunny?
It may not have been as gruesome as Mel Gibson's movie, but many parents and children got upset when a church trying to teach about Jesus' crucifixion performed an Easter show with actors whipping the Easter bunny and breaking eggs.
People who attended Saturday's show at Glassport's memorial stadium quoted performers as saying, ``There is no Easter bunny,'' and described the show as being a demonstration of how Jesus was crucified.
Melissa Salzmann, who brought her 4-year-old son J.T., said the program was inappropriate for young children. ``He was crying and asking me why the bunny was being whipped,'' Salzmann said.
Patty Bickerton, the youth minister at Glassport Assembly of God, said the performance wasn't meant to be offensive. Bickerton portrayed the Easter rabbit and said she tried to act with a tone of irreverence.
``The program was for all ages, not just the kids. We wanted to convey that Easter is not just about the Easter bunny, it is about Jesus Christ,'' Bickerton said.
Performers broke eggs meant for an Easter egg hunt and also portrayed a drunken man and a self-mutilating woman, said Jennifer Norelli-Burke, another parent who saw the show in Glassport, a community about 10 miles southeast of Pittsburgh.
``It was very disturbing,'' Norelli-Burke said. ``I could not believe what I saw. It wasn't anything I was expecting.''
AP-NY-04-08-04 1155EDT
Copyright 2004, The Associated Press. The information contained in the AP Online news report may not be published, broadcast or redistributed without the prior written authority of The Associated Press.
Posted by Bwana from Beantown at 11:29 am on 04.12.04 |
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22: You know, ET, that id you do not post for long periods, we the unwashed masses will contunue to post messages like the above.
Posted by Bwana from Beantown at 11:31 am on 04.12.04 |
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23: I meant that if YOU were not to post for a long time, not the ID. Where's the anonymous plaguerist blogger when I need them?
Posted by Bwana from Beantown at 3:18 pm on 04.12.04 |
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24: I was in Presto's, Sittingborne, I was about five years old and I lost my mother.... I don't remember everything about the experience, but she from what I remember she turned the corner next to the frozen veg and she was gone. It seemed like she was missing for ages. Thankfully we were re-united somewhere in the crisp aisle. I distinctly remember the White Smiths Crisps Bags, with the little bag of blue salt.
Do you feel better now?
ps Will you come visit next time you're in blighty in our new pad? P of P has missed you dearly...... (and I hear you're washing dishes for a living so could probably do with a good meal)
Posted by P of P at 6:24 pm on 04.12.04 |
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25: ah...waitrose.
ah...
Posted by j-a at 2:02 am on 04.13.04 |
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26: Uh, I just wnated to say a crack-whore still doesn't have enough moeny to shop at fancy-shmancy stores, by definition she is whoring for CRACK. Unless of course the crack whore then sold the crack...hmmmm.
JP
Posted by jp at 4:07 pm on 04.18.04 |
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