Soooooooo originally I was going to do a normal weekend re-cap, instead I’m going to recap the weekend by using different incidences to illustrate why I’m seriously messed up as a result of my parents. The older I get the more I realise just how much damage these two have done to me:
(apologies for the blurriness, I was laughing so hard I couldn't get it to focus)
Let’s start with this photo, it’s a pretty good example actually. Looks like a perfectly normal photo of a couple by a Christmas tree, right? WRONG. This is the photo I took, what you can’t see is to the right there is a huge dessertcase which is what they were actually posing next to, because and I quote “what’s more Christmassy than cake” Also just out of shot in this photo is a bridge (we are in a restaurant) we had to run over the bridge in case the trolls got us and then continued to traipse around what we later realised was the children’s section to find a table under the “best” fake tree.
We went out for dinner after a family outing to B&Q for paint (B&Q is a HUGE DIY chain). And the phycological scar here: I wasn’t being sarcastic I genuinely LOVE B&Q. When we moved to our current house it needed alot of work and my parents did most of it. SO my brother and I spent alot of time in alot of DIY stores. SO much time, that from an early age I had a favourite DIY chain (B&Q) and a favourite store within that chain (they liked to rotate their business). Drop me into the middle of any B&Q store and I can find my way to any deparment because I have their standardised floor plan memorised. How’s that for life skills. All this I feel could be brushed under the carpet, but for the most damming piece of evidence. When Ishmael came to visit my Dad had to show me the way to the beach despite the fact we are only 20minutes away. But yesterday when my parents got confused about the way to B&Q I KNEW THE WAY AND COULD DRIECT THEM! That is a sad indictment of my childhood!
Whilst shopping in IKEA mum suddenly announces that IKEA is a terrible place to be in case of a zombie incursion. The damming piece of evidence is not that as a family this is deemed a perfectly normal observation but that we then proceeded to discuss a survival strategy. FYI you want to get to the kitchen section: weapons and easier to defend.
On coming out of IKEA both my dad and I started to power walk, then do a weird sort jalk, then we descended into an all out run. Why? Because unless I beat him to the car he get’s in and locks me out and only opens the door once the car is moving so I have to jump into a moving vehicle! Where is my mum in all this? Walking, safe in the knowledge that Dad will unlock her door before starting the “game”.
It is so engrained from growing up that fruit and a yoghurt is a pudding that when I have it for breakfast I actually feel naughty!
I had arranged to pick up a rocking chair for Mum’s Christmas from Liverpool on Saturday night. To do this I needed to borrow Mum’s car and preferably dad to drive it. What followed was a 20minute discussion on the pros and cons of telling Mum why we were going out and letting her come with us to have a say in the chair purchase. What settled it is the fact that if she saw it, it would no-longer count as a Christmas present because it wouldn’t be a surprise. This approach doesn’t stop her from trying to spoil her own surprise by attempting to work out what she’s getting for Christmas. I’m fairly certain my Dad hasn’t fixed the garage door, which has been broken for 3 years, simply because it means mum can’t get in and it gives him somewhere to safely store presents. And the bit that means I’m messed up as a result, I see absolutely nothing Wrong with this behaviour in a 53 year old woman!