If its yellow, let it mellow

If it’s yellow, let it mellow

Sweet Mary & Joseph, I’ve moved back in with my parents down on the South Coast.  It is quite surreal being back in my childhood bedroom.  I had the choice of my old flat downstairs, but the every five minute footsteps above me drove me quite insane within the first few hours of being back at home.  That and the fact that we have a house guest coming along whom I’d rather not share such close, in your face, space with. 

“If it’s yellow, let it mellow.
If it’s brown, flush it down.”
If I have to hear this trill one more time coming from my little brothers lips, I will scream.  Unfortunately for me, although I might have the best room in the house, its certainly not worth sharing a bathroom with a 10 year old. 

I’ve come to the conclusion that my parents are stuck in a time warp.  We have a gorgeous 5 bedroom home, with seperate laundry and pool entertainment area, a gigantic garden complete with real life monkeys and some blue headed lizzards, a house that could truly break into magazine fashion, if it weren’t for the biggie-best décor flair my mother has.  Lets not forget the decoparged remote holders, or the 100 year old grandfather desk amongst the brown leather suite set up.  I swear, this house has not been changed in 10 years!  Even the shower door in my bathroom is still broken from when, ahem, some persons unknown got jiggy under water.  I hear the certain male accomplice is, to this day, gay. 

Be that as it may, I’ve revamped the place!  Turrah!  I’d post pictures, but my mom is convinced that  “the internet freaks” will stalk her.  She should be so lucky! My room upstairs is worthy of Top Billing, take my word for it.

In other news, my mom is in big trouble with Wok:

Our family has a “tooth mouse fairy” tradition.  Wok lost a tooth.  He duly stuck it under his pillow, awaiting for monetary remuniration the very next day.
It was a silent night, in a land not far away, where the couple were in bed, where their heads lay. 
My mother felt a rappity-tap-tap up top her duvet.
“Kevin, wake up, there’s a something on me!” she hissed,
“Oh dolly, go to sleep – you’ve had too much wine” just before he turned his back on her after they’d kissed.

Oh alright, I’ll kill the poetry, I’m done anyway: 

Two minutes go by, and the rappity-tap-tap is back!  Mother bravely looks over the duvet and what does she see?  A big fat bloody mouse, thats what!  She throws back the linen half way through her blood curdling scream, which proceeds to awake my dear step daddy who jumps out of the bed, hair smeared in all directions, sleep still wedged in his eyeballs and tries to make sense of what the flipping hell is going on around him.  My mother is useless, just clutching her nightie and hopping from one foot to the other on the sofa in the room, and Wok has already run through to help fight “the baddies”. 

Eventually the rat is found, gripped by his tail and, in the pure adrenaline rush I’m told, smashed against the wall by Kev.  My mom is in hysterics, hands shaking and already on her way to the fridge to find a chilled glass of vino, I’m sure, to calm her nerves.  Kev is standing over the bed holding the poor little rodent while staring at it intensely as if waiting for telepathic communication as to why it was found on his bed and is now dead.
Soon enough, they turn around to the sound of snivelling and find my baby brother in tears.  “It’s okay, Wokkie, its gone now, you don’t have to be worried”.

“Bbbut Mommy!  You’ve gone and killed the tooth mouse fairy!”


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