Mum incessantly verbalises what sounds like absolutely EVERYTHING that occupies in her brain. It’s beginning to wear. “Ooh, dishcloths, forgot them…. Have to de-ice the car because it’s frosty, I’ll just start the engine now and keep it running…wonder how busy Tesco’s will be.” I think she goes shopping every other day simply for something to do. “Now, I’m off, sure you don’t want anything? Ooh, purse, library books, I’ll get new ones now you see..” I smile and nod, possibly failing to entirely disguise my faint withering. You hear properly old people doing this: “ooh spinach, can’t remember the last time I had spinach!” but I reckon Mum’s stolen a march early. It’s also possible I feel her twittering more keenly because I’m the polar opposite: living alone, seldom actually speaking any of the fetid nonsense which swirls round my head, whether that’s my generally joyless existence, or that I need to buy new dishcloths. Keeping it snugly locked inside, eating away.
But Mum, oh Mum, bless her. It wouldn’t surprise me if she soon began announcing, “Ooh I think I’ll breathe in. Now I’ll breathe out. Now in again..”
I have one of those ... I'm not sure whether it's better or worse that it's a step, not a blood relation. It rules out genetic transference, I suppose. But I have discovered that not even the most blatant signs of boredom shut her up as she tells me a story, in great detail, that I've heard at least three times before. Saying "Yes you've told me this already," is merely an opportune moment for her to pause for breath before continuing.
ReplyDeleteDidn't even mention the repeated stories. I love the way you can regale their oft-repeated stories back to them, but when they fail to remember something you've told them several times - like times, dates or how you take your tea - then they act all wounded and wronged, like they're the victim.
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