Sunday 24 April 2011

Oh No!

While most girls swear they'll never turn into their mothers it's pretty much inevitable and we just accept it (kind of) and move on. So when I started showing signs of a) looking (although I'm a belter–  no thanks to me –  the legendary Pillay bum has found this Jutle) and b) sounding like my mother, I just took it in my stride.

Imagine my surprise when I realised I've TURNED INTO MY FATHER!



He'll happily chuck a chunk of
whatever into his lunch box- my new
trick too.
Seriously, I didn't see it coming. It sort of just crept up on me. A little wise crack here, a bit of dumpster diving there and before I know it I'm a fully fledged crack-pot!


Let's just go through the list:



*The man will eat ANYTHING. I mean it. Carbonised bread that can't even be called burnt toast, porridge soaked in fruit juice, scrapings of the condiment jar, the list is endless.
* Using any scrap of something as a towel/scarf/shirt/bandana- more often than not, as all of those.
* Picking up random things off the road/dump/charity shop and hanging them about the house as decor.
* Unable to resist a good stretch on any wall/rail or object that may or may not be appropriate to do so.
* Being annoyingly finicky about other peoples stuff (not a bad trait just annoying if the stuff in question is a car coz he'll drive at a ridiculously slow pace & not use it for anything other than it's intended purpose).
* And who could forget that warped sense of humour. Yip, the one that no one else gets. Ever.

My wheels, at my disposal any time.
Now for the shocker, I can easily claim all the above as my own. These antics and more have been unleashed into the world. So ring the alarm, 'coz the next stop is tatty clothes and the loony bin!







The only other people more like my dad than I am!

















* No feelings were hurt in the making of this post, however I'm obliged to mention that this post should in no way be seen as a complaint and that the parent in question is very dear to me (as is the more sane one).

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