Had dinner last night with the extended family.
Nobody passed wind. Somebody burped, but it got lost in the din. The din is the noise of the sisterhood that never stops. Never stops talking, ever.
An interesting evening, let's not lie. I mean it's my family after all. I tried to mentally prepare 747, but often mental preparation isn't enough.
For instance, my step dad told a regaling story over dessert about a motorbike accident he saw on the highway where a girl's brain had popped out onto the road. That was awesome.
My mum bought out books on Thailand.
My Canadian aunt told us how she'd tried to throw her blow up mattress over into the neighbour's garden earlier that day. Just for shits.
Step-dad had to leave halfway through (Creole) dinner to attend to some urgent plumbing next door. He waltzed back in saying, “You shoulda seen what was in that drain, my God...”
My Kiwi aunt told us about 'hoons,' New Zealand chavs. Who have mullets and drop the suspension on their cars, but instead of saying “Am I bovvered?” they say, “Em Oi Bothid?”
Canadian aunt also proudly told us about the wonderful velvet track-suit she has, “one that makes her look like J-Lo.” (Ever so politely, he said, “Hell! I want one of those. Please bring me one from Canada next time you out. I'd like to go buy a newspaper in it, where all my mate's will see me.”)
Then the ultimate in cultural and familial persuasion - my mother: “I certainly hope you don't have [that culture's] blood in your veins, Mr 747!” (Um...he does Mum.)
For all their eccentricities, my family are a special bunch. “Hope we didn't embarrass you," says my step-dad pulling me aside on leaving.
My mum: "Peas, we look like hippies don't we?" (You are a hippie Mum. Except you bathe everyday.)
They behaved exceptionally well, they tried hard. I was proud of them.
My Kiwi cuz came home with me and is staying for two days. Possibly for a little peace and quiet, and perhaps a few sneaky shnafties or two.