Local Woman Finds Satan in Family Tree

A cousin and I who just reconnected after 17 years were comparing our respective memories of various relatives, all on my dad's side of the family. It is a little bit startling when one is doing an inventory of the fambly tree to look closer in the branches and find Satan ensconced in there, in the form of one of my aunts. Who'd've thought. The Husband thinks that it should be more appropriately classified as Satan's Evil Handmaiden, but that's just semantics.

This is the same one who told me when I was 9 that the only reason my parents got married is because my mom got pregnant with me.

So it appears that she also told my uncle, her brother, that he was illegitimate, that my Grandfather was not his biological father as he had believed for, um, his whole life. It could possibly be regarded as a well-meaning statement if not for the fact that she told him this just after his biological father had passed away.

And to top things off, when my dad got ill and needed a bone marrow transplant, she turned out to be the only match, due to the fact that my poor illegitimate uncle was now out of the running. And she refused to donate squat. Because she was scared of the pain.

So my dad passed away. Guess who was at the funeral, chatting away with guests like nothing had happened? The Husband reminded me that she told the rest of the mourners that she was solely responsible for saving my dad's soul, as she was the one who had convinced him to convert to Christ just before he passed away.

Now if that's not Satan, I don't know who is.

So it appears we can also spell

The great white maternity shirt debate has been unsatisfactorily resolved, notwithstanding all the good advice I got from my previous post. I did not make it to the shops in time, and was forced to wear my husband's white shirt to Court. Caught a glimpse of myself in a reflective surface just as I wandered into Court and shuddered. Also the buttons face the wrong way.

But anyway, that's done.

We found out last Friday, quite by accident, that The Son can spell! Everyone within 3 generations is thrilled - The Son, The Grandmother and her siblings and of course the parents who are fighting to see who should get the credit for this latest development.

It all started with the second episode of Survivor Tocantins last Friday and a hyperactive 3-year old who wanted to do something interesting right about the time the contestants were about to start the Immunity Challenge. The father had gone into hiding in the bedroom, and the maid and I were not in the mood to entertain The Son (C'mon! It's the Immunity Challenge, for God's sake.).

So I gave him a piece of paper and a pencil, and I told him to write "Zoo" on it. I had another phrase in mind, but decided that "Zoo" was more polite.

And he did. He just did. He didn't copy it from anything, and no one told him how to spell it.

I was convinced that it was a fluke. So I told him to write "Map" on another piece of paper.

And he did. Although I noted that his spelling appears to be far better than his penmanship - the direction of the loop on the "P" is driving him insane and he writes everything in 80 point-size and upper case.

"Can you write 'BASEMENT'?" I asked. After all, we could have an Einstein on our hands. Might as well find out. Could earn some money.

"No, I am sleepy now." said he. And then he walked off to bed.

"Who won the Immunity Challenge?" I asked the maid.

Ok. Not funny anymore.

There must be a law somewhere that pregnant women don't work or something. Or they don't hold down serious jobs. Because if you take a good look at all the clothes in the maternity shops, you'd find that they're either:

(a) clothes most appropriate for attending at the playground;
(b) clothes that you wear to sleep; or
(c) clothes that you would wear if you were soliciting for paid sex.

(c) was a weird one. But how else can we account for the profusion of low cut gaping clothes and high slits on short skirts. I could be wrong, but most guys don't dig pregnant chicks. I think they prefer their chicks non-pregnant, thank you very much. There's nothing more terrifying than an extremely pregnant woman prancing around in a short skirt. Stand behind her on an escalator going up, and you can almost see the baby crowning.

I am having some serious problems finding a plain, long sleeved white shirt that has buttons up to the collar. If I don't find one by Friday, I'm going to have to wear my husband's shirt to court.