A Little Tit For Tat

19-04-2014 Saturday

Why was it again that people got married? Love? According to the Everglots (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gstRzkg8ZX0) ‘liking’ each other has nothing to do with marriage. ‘Marriage is a partnership; a little tit for tat,’ is what Mrs Everglot thinks and sometimes I fear that she might just be right. Especially when I look at the marriages in my own family. I guess Mum and Dad’s relationship is not very different from the Everglots (though they look a lot better), at least as far as I can see. Don’t ask me about their bedroom adventures; I don’t know and I don’t want to know. Nobody wants to know these things about their own parents, right? I hope this didn’t make you think about your own parents … sorry.
Today, as a complete surprise, Uncle Jonesy visited us to talk about his divorce. Dad said he smelt of alcohol, but I think it was the open bottle of Johnny Walker in Jonesy’s hand that Dad smelt, but I’m not an expert in these things. Dad let him in, but I somehow wish he hadn’t. Jonesy tripped over a threshold that wasn’t there and fell on the ground. Luckily he broke his fall with his face. Dad called Mum who was upstairs doing Mum stuff,’ Jonesy dropped by to see you!’ Mum yelled back,’ Let him in, be right down.’ So Dad looked at Jonesy, who was still lying on the floor more dead than alive,’ Come in, she says and then he called up to Mum,’ He’s in!’
When Mum came down Jonesy was still lying on the floor, but he had curled up into some sort of foetus position. He was stammering something about love and wedding vows and kids, but it was mainly inaudible and sounded very childish. Dad said something about rebirthing, but I didn’t understand. It must have been very difficult for Mum to sympathise with Uncle Jonesy. Not only because he had been drinking a little, which made it a little harder to communicate with him, but also because everybody in our entire family was jumping for joy when they heard about the divorce; Nora was – and still is – not really very popular. While Jonesy was crying his eyes out, Mum was doing the very best she could to calm him down and tell him how sorry she was for him and how she wish they could sort out their problems and stay together.  
Mum doesn’t want them to stay together; I know that for sure. Just the other day I overheard her say to Dad,’ Good riddance to bad rubbish’. Here she was telling lies to poor ol’ Uncle Jonesy and she was getting away with it, too. I know of a person who’ll not be getting any Christmas presents this year! It’s too late to tell the Easter Bunny now, but Santa will hear about this. Mum’s lies weren’t of any use, anyhow, because each time she said something like,’ You can work this out,’ or ‘Everything will be just fine.’ Jonesy started screaming like a little kid,’ Noooooo, it’s not, nooo. Go away!’ 
After an hour Jonesy stuck his thumb in his mouth and fell asleep, right there, in our corridor, on the floor. That’s when Mum finally gave up. Dad had already given up. He gave up right after Jonesy had tripped over an imaginary threshold. I hadn’t even started anything yet, so nobody could call me a quitter. Mum walked into the room and closed the door behind her. For a couple of hours life went on as if Jonesy wasn’t here. We started watching a film and then another one. Halfway through that film the door opened, Jonesy walked in smelling even worse than before – I think he shat himself – and he said,’ Has anybody seen my house? I’m sure I left it here this morning.’ Mum took him upstairs and put him under the shower. I felt kind of sorry for him at that point but I no clue as to what I could do so I made him a drawing of smiling chicken. I guess we could all use a smiling chicken these days. 

I’m off to bed. I’ll look into this rebirthing thing in the morning, it sounded quite interesting. See me tomorrow (not too early, because it’s quite late already)

To The Batcave!

19-03-2014 Wednesday

Dad’s hair is getting thinner. I noticed it today when he bowed down to untie his shoelaces. He’s getting this bald patch on the back of his head. My future is looking grim. I’m thinking about growing my hair while I’ve still got it. Maybe I can make a wig from my hair eventually, just in case I grow bald. Then by the time I am starting to turn bald, I can just put on my wig and tell everybody that it’s my real hair. Why hadn’t Dad thought of that when he still could? I wonder if Mum has noticed it already and what she thinks about it. As long as she doesn’t turn bald I still have a chance.
What I haven’t told you yet is that the word is out: Mrs Williams is getting a divorce. I wonder if she is going to marry Mr Owen next. I really kind of doubt it, because – as I said earlier – he is the ‘happy single’ and I don’t think he’d want to give that single-ness up for a (bad word) like Mrs Williams. He is way too attached to his freedom. Besides, why would you want to get married right after a divorce? I bet Mr Williams is not going to support her financially after having been cheated on by her. Who knows whom else she’s been seeing besides Mr Owen, being the flirter she is. For some reason I feel she doesn’t deserve to be loved by so many men.
Talking about love. I have decided to tell Mum and Dad about Evelyn this weekend. Evelyn agreed on this. She still hasn’t told her parents either. So, we’re both telling them this weekend. We’ll report to each other on Monday how it went. We are not very good with telephones, because that would involve talking in real life more or less. It’s amazing how two people can say so much without words. I think it must be love.
My birthday is just around the corner. I’ll be turning 15, which means I still can’t do anything. I told Mum and Dad I’d rather not have a party like Grandma’s. Maybe we could just invite some of the saner relatives (with the exception of Grandma) and that’s it. If I’m lucky Evelyn could come over and celebrate with us, but let’s not get my hopes up or push my luck.
I phoned Grandma yesterday to tell her that I’d love to get a ticket to the London Dungeon. She insisted that it was called the Batcave and that is was to be a secret and nobody was to know about its whereabouts except for Batman and Robin. At first I had no idea what she was going on about and then I tried to convince her I was Batman, but to no avail. In the end we kind of agreed on the fact that we were both a bit batty, but not batty enough to be called Batman. I’ll try again next week.
We’re getting a new neighbour this weekend. The house opposite our house has been sold to this elderly lady (don’t ask me how old). I haven’t seen her yet, but Mum has. She’s called Unice or something and ‘Even though it has “nice” in it,’ Mum says,’ does not mean she looks very friendly.’ I don’t know if you’ve ever read the book ‘Witches’, but the way Mum described her to me I had a bad feeling about this. We’ll see this weekend. Let’s enjoy a nice quiet evening with a lovely film and some homework. See me tomorrow.

Pretty Please

Grandma called to see if we knew what had happened to her TV-set. She said there was some sort of plastic dinosaur stuck in the screen. Mum told her that some kids at her party were fighting over who got to play with it and then one of them decided it was better if no one had the dinosaur at all and threw it away. Grandma said something about having no recollection of inviting kids to her party, let alone dinosaurs. She was also wondering why the lights weren’t working anymore and why one of the chairs had a leg missing and where her bed sheets had gone to. That’s when Mum decided to go over and have a talk about the party with Grandma. I was not allowed to come not even if I had wanted it really bad.
When Dad came home and found Mum was gone he decided it was his turn to cook. I begged him, please, and pretty please, and pretty please with cream and a cherry on top, and added some chocolate sprinkles too, just so he would change his mind and not cook but to just go out and get some fish ‘n’ chips, but alas. I know that fish ‘n’ chips is not part of my diet and is actually quite bad for me, but Dad’s cooking would be bad for my taste buds not to mention the fact it would be hazardous to my life and we all know: without life no diet; and man, I loooooove this diet. He started cooking anyways, but gave up when the chicken had burnt and the saltshaker dropped into the boiling water with the potatoes in it (okay, that was my bad). Fish ‘n’ chips it was.
Mum came home at eight. She had had dinner at Grandma’s and she had helped clean up the last bits. Grandma does not seem to remember an awful lot about the party. Nobody, so far, has said anything about a divorce or signing divorce papers. It’s not clear if Nora and Jonesy remember anything at all and what they remember? I would gladly fill in the blanks and spice the story up a little if it would help them make a decision that would be better for everybody. I did offer Mum of providing my services to make this a better world for us and them and told her I was very cheap, but she declined. I think it won’t be wise to call up Jonesy and tell him the story anyways as some sort of . I’ll leave it for the time being. 
Talking about relationships. I know of one relationship that is working out pretty well. Evelyn and I are really serious at the moment, though we still haven’t properly kissed. We are walking around hand in hand, we eat at the same table, and Evelyn said she had eternalized our love in one of the bathroom stalls. School rule amongst pupils is that if it’s written down in a bathroom stall, it’s a fact. Spelling and grammar mistakes are permitted provided that the sentence is still clear to all and sundry. So there you have it. The only problem is telling Mum and Dad about my love life. I have no idea what their reaction would be. Our family has never had to deal with such a situation before. I think I’ll practise my story on Cheddar. I’ll do that … now. See me tomorrow.