I survived a five-hour car trip with The Parental Unit for which I surely deserve some compensation for emotional damages. While I am exceptionally fond of my parents, I am convinced that travelling long distances with the people who created you should be banned. I arrived at Precious Jo'burg Friend's house dangerously close to a nervous breakdown.
It began at the unacceptable hour of 4 a-effing-m, with a temperature so chilly I was exhaling solids. (It must be noted that I am not - especially on my first day of leave - wont to rise before the sun on a Saturday morning and so was in a mood not dissimilar to one with a fevered hangover.)
But I climbed directly into car and lay my head on pillow next to The Daughter who, like her mother, enjoys icy early mornings as much as constipation. But, as with all long distance trips, The Father's boredom with repetitive scenery becomes apparent when he takes it upon himself to single-handedly provide the vocal soundtrack to the trip.
Well, that's not strictly true. He often requires my, or The Daughter's input in terms of providing the descant.
The Father: (sings)Holy Mary, Mother of God. (Speaks) Now, Pant, when I get to the (sings) pray for us sinners (speaks) part, I want you to descant with (sings) pray for us pray for us. (Speaks) K, let's try it.
I don't know why I don't just say no, but I don't, and inevitably I get it wrong.
The Father: Okay, ready?
The Pant: Yup.
TF: One, two, three (sings) Holy Mary-
TP: (cat's choirish) pray for us pray for us, yeaaaaaaaaaah (Mariah Carey style).
TF: (abrupt) What was that?
TP: Descant improvisation.
TF: Descant what? I told you to sing (sings) pray for us pray for us.
TP: And I workshopped in (sings) yeaaaaaaaaaah (Mariah Carey-style).
TF: You what?
TP: I thought we could try something new.
TF: The descant is new. You can't be extra new with Holy Mary.
TP: Why?
TF: Because this is my edition of Holy Mary, not yours. Right, let's take it from the top.
TP: K.
TF: (sings) Holy Mary-
TP: (sings) Mother of mother of-
TF: (anger, audible). What was that?
TP: I was descanting.
TF: The wrong words. I told you it was (sings) pray for us pray for us.
TP: Sorry.
TF: Fine. Let's try it again.
I never quite got The Father's descant right. Eventually he ordered me to sing the hymn and he'd provide the descant.
TF: K go.
TP: (sings) Pray for us pray for us.
TF: Bloody hell, Pant. What is wrong with you this morning?
(I couldn't tell him that my idea of fun did not include the singing of hymns in a new-aged descant-style.)
TP: What?
TF: You're supposed to be singing the (sings) Holy Mary, Mother of God (speaks) part. The descant is mine.
TP: Right. Okay go.
TF: You're supposed to start.
TP: What?
TF: What do you mean 'what'?
TP: What am I supposed to start?
TF: (very close to emitting steam from ears.). The hymn.
TP: (taking a huge chance). Which hymn?
TF: Don't make me swear.
TP: About?
TF: Just leave it, Pant. I'll do it on my own.
And he did. A number of songs and hymns. Including:
a) the entire sound track to The Sound of Music including the yodelling bits,
b) the soundtrack to Jesus Christ Superstar,
c) every Beatles song he knows,
d) the songs he used to sing to The Daughter when she was a small baby and,
e) his old school song (majority of words forgotten and improvised with 'aaaaas' and 'uuuuuus')
There's a reason for flying. This trip, a case in point.
Showing posts with label The Father. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The Father. Show all posts
Monday, June 27, 2011
Saturday, May 14, 2011
Dear God, Much Love And Thanks, The Pant.
I've been a complaining sodding whore for the last couple of days, have I not? And so, in an attempt to redeem myself from whenst you have shelved my whingey self, I have decided to have an upbeat banter today. In prayer form. Sometimes we ought to be thankful, I feel.
So, here goes...
Dear God,
While I was a little upset with You about the creation of the bus the other day, I realised that perhaps You had not intended real humans to travel therein, and so I am thankful to You for buses, particularly because, as a result of this particular creation, You have housed my internet imposter gran (GrannyPants) and her digitally challenged husband. But could You kindly put warnings on buses as You continue to create interesting hippie homes, that humans should not, in fact, go inside them whilst they are attempting to move through streets. I'd be awfully thankful if You could.
And thanks must go to You for Your invention of the padded bra. That was a real cracker - well done. And I'm most impressed by this creation because they are a two-fold life-saver. On/in the one hand, they certainly do save a flat-chested Mary, like me, a particular amount of face. Of course, when the bra comes off, the viewer of the wares within the bra might gasp something along the lines of, "What the? Are you a? Where'd they go?" But I'm okay with that. You know I prefer them when they're drunk anyway. Or at least I keep telling myself that. So cheers for the instant extra two cups. They go a long way. (PS Could You start making wine bottles the same way? Like each bottle comes with an extra two glasses. You of all, um, people? - well, you were once a person - deities?, yup, deities should know how much I like an extra tipple or two. So I'll be expecting that on the shelves next time I hit the bottle store, right?)
But also, Your creation there has saved my face more times than I'd like to admit. You know, what with Your decision to turn summer off, I'm left with a nipeel speel so intense that I've carved holes in most of my sleeping tops. I'm thankful for the small nipples that You gave me, but You know, I've learned to handle the bad with the good, and my nipple stand is something like smuggling a collection of needles. Let's just say, that when the temperature drops below 30, my nipples get straight to the point. But You made the padded bra, God, and so now, when I remember to wear a bra, people right up in my face won't be able to check the temperature off my chest. Good one.
Also, a huge kudos to You on choosing Durban as my hometown. Although I whinge every morning when I step out of bed something in manner of, "Colder than a witch's teet. It's effing unbearable. It must be sub-20!" I know that You chose Durban for me, because there are no other places in South Africa where I can tan mid-winter. You rock. Seriously.
Also, God, thanks muchly for taking Larry away from me. In the olden days of puffy eyes and anti-depressants, I was probably praying something in the vein of, "Pleeeeeease (sob sob) give him baaaaack!" but I've come to see Your logic in that decision. Fine logic it was too. You know I remember the winter that I spent in Jo'burg being his house bitch (well, of course You do, You know everything so You know what's in my mind), well the lack of warmth there really did render me a nasty person. And as a result of Your decision to set us on different paths, I no longer have to consider enduring another Jo'burg winter. So, God, I have finally come to see Your light. Give Larry to a girl who can handle the cold. Send me a hotter man (please) both in his preference for temperature and in looks. Thanks.
While we're on the subject of Larry, God, I must just request that You stop sending him to me in brief dreams, like You did last night. But I thank You for keeping me chaste in said dream. At least this morning, I woke up without any Catholic guilt. Or send me those dreams, but could You replace Larry's face with New Sexy Sexy Man who seems to be playing Sexy Sexy Mindgames with my head? You already sent me his body.
And as always, thank You for The Daughter. And for her profound change in me. And for The Father, The Incubator, The Husband, The Brother, The Sil, The Nephew, The Niece, The BF, Carlos and My Future Ex Husband Who Has Less Than No Desire To Actually Caress My Inner Thigh. And keep them safe. Please.
Much love to You, God. You really do rock.
The Pant.
So, here goes...
Dear God,
While I was a little upset with You about the creation of the bus the other day, I realised that perhaps You had not intended real humans to travel therein, and so I am thankful to You for buses, particularly because, as a result of this particular creation, You have housed my internet imposter gran (GrannyPants) and her digitally challenged husband. But could You kindly put warnings on buses as You continue to create interesting hippie homes, that humans should not, in fact, go inside them whilst they are attempting to move through streets. I'd be awfully thankful if You could.
And thanks must go to You for Your invention of the padded bra. That was a real cracker - well done. And I'm most impressed by this creation because they are a two-fold life-saver. On/in the one hand, they certainly do save a flat-chested Mary, like me, a particular amount of face. Of course, when the bra comes off, the viewer of the wares within the bra might gasp something along the lines of, "What the? Are you a? Where'd they go?" But I'm okay with that. You know I prefer them when they're drunk anyway. Or at least I keep telling myself that. So cheers for the instant extra two cups. They go a long way. (PS Could You start making wine bottles the same way? Like each bottle comes with an extra two glasses. You of all, um, people? - well, you were once a person - deities?, yup, deities should know how much I like an extra tipple or two. So I'll be expecting that on the shelves next time I hit the bottle store, right?)
But also, Your creation there has saved my face more times than I'd like to admit. You know, what with Your decision to turn summer off, I'm left with a nipeel speel so intense that I've carved holes in most of my sleeping tops. I'm thankful for the small nipples that You gave me, but You know, I've learned to handle the bad with the good, and my nipple stand is something like smuggling a collection of needles. Let's just say, that when the temperature drops below 30, my nipples get straight to the point. But You made the padded bra, God, and so now, when I remember to wear a bra, people right up in my face won't be able to check the temperature off my chest. Good one.
Also, a huge kudos to You on choosing Durban as my hometown. Although I whinge every morning when I step out of bed something in manner of, "Colder than a witch's teet. It's effing unbearable. It must be sub-20!" I know that You chose Durban for me, because there are no other places in South Africa where I can tan mid-winter. You rock. Seriously.
Also, God, thanks muchly for taking Larry away from me. In the olden days of puffy eyes and anti-depressants, I was probably praying something in the vein of, "Pleeeeeease (sob sob) give him baaaaack!" but I've come to see Your logic in that decision. Fine logic it was too. You know I remember the winter that I spent in Jo'burg being his house bitch (well, of course You do, You know everything so You know what's in my mind), well the lack of warmth there really did render me a nasty person. And as a result of Your decision to set us on different paths, I no longer have to consider enduring another Jo'burg winter. So, God, I have finally come to see Your light. Give Larry to a girl who can handle the cold. Send me a hotter man (please) both in his preference for temperature and in looks. Thanks.
While we're on the subject of Larry, God, I must just request that You stop sending him to me in brief dreams, like You did last night. But I thank You for keeping me chaste in said dream. At least this morning, I woke up without any Catholic guilt. Or send me those dreams, but could You replace Larry's face with New Sexy Sexy Man who seems to be playing Sexy Sexy Mindgames with my head? You already sent me his body.
And as always, thank You for The Daughter. And for her profound change in me. And for The Father, The Incubator, The Husband, The Brother, The Sil, The Nephew, The Niece, The BF, Carlos and My Future Ex Husband Who Has Less Than No Desire To Actually Caress My Inner Thigh. And keep them safe. Please.
Much love to You, God. You really do rock.
The Pant.
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