Old-Fashioned Fruitcake
Grandchild being in this case a major understatement, but seriously, chickens are amazing. Amazing and amazingly weird.
Take the whole issue of eggs for example. It takes a hen about 26 hours to produce an egg. But when the hen sits on a whole batch of them – up to a dozen – they all hatch around the same time, not at 26 hour intervals for a fortnight. (Assuming a rooster was involved prior to egg-laying. Otherwise no business results and the hen gets bored after a while and wanders off.)
How weird, would you say – at a guess – is your family? Compared to the generality of families, are they:
a) so eccentric you’d never get away with it in fiction;
b) moderately weird;
c) fairly average; or
d) so normal as to be almost suspicious?
Please note: pseudonyms are perfectly acceptable in the comment section for those wishing to protect the privacy of their families (or avoid their families hunting them down, bent on revenge).
I, however, shall fling aside the cloak of concealment and say that my family is probably a solid b: moderately weird, but not legendarily so (though others may wish to dispute this).
As evidence, I submit the following conversation, the result of us going out for a family dinner:
INT. PUB KITCHEN. DINNERTIME.
Waiter: (entering) A troupe of Russian folk singers has just walked in!
Chef: Ah, that’ll be my flatmate’s family.
I am weird and I admit it.
Fortunately I have friends who don’t object to my weirdness.
The weirdest thing I’ve ever done – and my nearest and dearest may wish to contest this, but it’s the first thing that comes to mind – is to attend a party wearing a jester’s hat (red and yellow motley, with bells on) and while there, embark on a fly-killing spree.
Yes, I am the Death of Flies (also Ants, Fleas, and Other Parasitical Insects).
I make up for the Caped Gooseberry’s extreme pacifism by wreaking wholesale slaughter on the pestilential creatures whenever they cross my path.
The party in question was held at a house that seems to be regarded by flies as the paradise of paradises: warm, airy, and with lots of high ceilings where people can’t get at you with fly swats.
Over the course of the evening, with the assistance of a rolled-up newspaper, I managed to kill over a hundred flies. And how did my friends react? Being, as they are, such excellent and eccentric-friendly people, they pointed out the flies I had missed (or rather, hadn’t seen yet) – particularly if conveniently resting on someone else – and raised a ragged cheer when I hit the century.
There are two lessons to be drawn from this:
1) why hide your weirdness? if you aren’t the kind of person who likes to make small talk with strangers at a party, do something else to make it a memorable evening.
2) choose your friends carefully. Friends who accept you as you are are worth their weight in gold.