The Blains

So the mother calls me today with a small complaint about the neighbour's leaking gutter, then starts a very long story about her rather interesting lunch appointment yesterday with a doctor in another clinic who administers enemas. And no, they did not talk about enemas.

You spend a fair amount of your formative years trying not to be like yer parents, then you realise that you are exactly like your mother. That's hot.

She goes into a long spiel about the lunch, what this guy does, the lunch, the guy, what he says, and then finally when I've gone into auto-uh-huh mode and 9 mins into the conversation, she gets to the pointy end of the point of the call.

Anyway, it's some job offer, she's thinking about it and she informed the doctor she would revert within a week after she had the opportunity to consult with her children. Weird, isn't it. I never thought I would see the day when my bossy mother decides to take our views before making a decision that involves principally herself. After all, there was no such consultation period before she ordered my curtains for my house, or threw out all my old Pokemon pajamas and my comfortable underpants and replaced them with scratchy nylon lingerie. Or, as we will never get tired of reminding her, before she innoculated all my wedding guests with the flu jab just after my Chinese wedding dinner. Now you want my view? For what?

Oh, maybe I should just ask you. Your sister is travelling and your brother is in another timezone. After all, you are the brain.

If I am the brains in the family, then we are all in deep shit.