This week my own mother labelled me a nut. While others have loosely thrown the word about, my own mother actually telling me so shook me. What had made her come to this conclusion? Had I always been a nut? Why did she wait until I was 10,000 miles away to tell me?
Apparently it was the message I had left on her answer machine that triggered her nut accusation. Naturally I thought this to be quite harsh and asked for other nut examples. Trimming the Christmas tree while we were moving house on Christmas Eve (2 points). Honeymooning in a tent (1 point). Camping with a baby in cloth nappies whilst pregnant (3 points). Moving into a house requiring commercial quantities of Detol to eradicate the odour of cat pee (2 points plus bonus points for allowing friends and neighbours to carry our unpacked belongings across the street). Exposing my true self to the world via this blog (she rested her case).
These may reflect traces of nut but why should I be singled out as the only nut on my family tree? Husband recounts his early days with my family. Dad took him aside and warned him of the six month grounding I incurred when Mr BMX brought me home late and the time he took Future Doctor aside and ruthlessly chopped a pair of sheep’s testicles in half with his meat clever sending a message about the dangers of doing the wrong thing. Then there was the time Mum bought me seven pairs of knickers, each printed with the individual days of the week and the fact that I then matched my knickers with the calendar. His favourite Griffiths Family nut trait was our singing of Happy Birthday; out of time, out of tune and very, very loudly in order to encourage our dog to join in with painful howls of despair.
He describes his first exposure to my extended family as extraordinary despite me fore warning him of the important facts. Nana Wallace was totally blind and there was a good chance of being served a cup of coffee containing a tea bag. Aunty Jean would serve you a mountain of mock whipped cream, despite the fact that you were eating something savoury. Most of the males were called Bill and the majority of the family were hard of hearing. After an afternoon of people yelling Billy, Brenda’s Bill, Lorraine’s Bill, Big Bill and Little Bill Studd on top of the family catch phrase of ‘want a bit of cream love’ he politely announced that they were all nuts.
So am I actually nuts or do I merely contain traces of nut? As strange as it may sound there are rational reasons for most of my quirks. Arriving at work in my slippers was due to the fact that my beautiful patent shoes were getting ruined whilst driving; I just forgot to pack my shoes that day. Writing a Mr Men story during my chemistry exam was because I was not permitted to leave the exam within the first hour; my Mr Pipette and Mr Burette story actually earned me a pass. Setting my alarm for 4am in order to lay out the Easter egg hunt is out of necessity; the dog will eat the eggs if laid the night before and Sons set their own alarms for 5am. And relocation from the sunny shores of Australia to the long dark winters of England was a no brainer; love.
I am who I am. I am me. If this makes me nuts then steer clear if you suffer nut allergy.
