Yeah, this title makes you think this post is deep and thought-provoking, right?
You should get to know me better.
Family – I found out through trial and error experimentation – is the group of people a writer can consistently ignore without fear of serious repercussion. The ones who take the spot on the last-but-one rung of the latter, just above yourself and beneath everyone else.
I’ve been suspecting this might be the case for a long time now, but what sealed the deal for me was this last incident:
I was in the middle of composing an email at the exact time my sixteen year old daughter called me to help her straighten her hair, an everyday, and even more than once-a-day event (how will she cope when she leaves home, neither of us knows – we daren’t even go there). As any mother who attempts to coax her offspring onto the path of being a considerate human being and getting such offspring to accept early-on in life the high likelihood of never occupying that hugely-coveted spot of center-of-the-universe (which most people believe they do), I informed her I will be there as soon as I finished writing the email.
After which, I promptly forgot she spoke to me at all.
About fifteen minutes later, she pops her head around the door and stares at me without saying a word. Deeply humiliated, I abandon thought in favour of speech and say:
“Oh, God! I forgot you altogether!”, a completely truthful statement, no doubt there at all.
She smiles, sighs theatrically and says: “I feel so loved!”
Where’s that black hole when you need it?
Bless my family, ’cause I have put them through Hell.