A Good Stoning

August 6, 2009

I have by now accepted that there is no magical spell, that the porch is not in itself ‘magical’, and that The Hippy is, truth by told, what my Dad would call a ‘stoner’. I’ve never encountered a ‘stoner’ before, unless you count that bloke called Matt The Stoner who used to come to my Dad’s parties when we lived in London, but I only met him two or three times and quite frankly I spent most of those parties hidden behind the TV, so this is all new to me. All I really noticed about Matt The Stoner is that at a certain point in the evening, he started to eat anything. Ergo, I have deduced that being a ‘stoner’ means, amongst other things, being weird about food.

 I think I may have already mentioned the fact that The Hippy throws nothing away. Not even if it is off.

“Do we have any fruit salad left?”, asks The Mushroom.

“Sure, man, one bowl”, replies The Hippy.

The Mushroom removes the fruit salad from the fridge, sniffs it, retches and moves to throw the salad in the bin. At this point, The Hippy looks as if she has just been shot and in a dash that would have made a professional hockey player proud, saves the fruit salad.

“Shit, man!”, says The Hippy. Based on the stillness of The Mushroom, she does not comply with this command. “You can’t throw food away!”

“But it has things growing on it.”, replies The Mushroom, “And I think if I ate it I might actually be killed.”

The Hippy looks at the salad, looks at the bin, and looks at The Mushroom. “Well, I’ll eat it then.”

What I find odd is that The Hippy will not allow humans to waste food, but nonetheless feeds That Black Dog proper, real, minced beef once a week, which is clearly a waste because That Black Dog eats anything. Minced beef? Yeah, I’ll eat it. Crisps? Why not. A big load of stale bread with bird droppings on it? Probably. He hangs around The Baby during her meal times and eats whatever she drops, which is hysterical because a lot of what she eats is fruit and That Black Dog is allergic to fruit, so he eats it and is then promptly sick. You’d think at fourteen years of age he’d have learnt that he’s allergic to fruit. I’m only eleven but I know I can’t, for example, eat a cous cous salad.  Maybe he’s stoned too.

Speaking of odd eating habits, I overheard The Cave Troll say that apparently the raccoons had got into the bins last night and ate the contents of The Baby’s dirty nappies. There is no way now I’m going to try and eat one of those rank little rodents now.

I would, however, say that the biggest difference between The Hippy and, say, the rest of the human race is that she appears to do exactly what she feels like doing exactly when she feels like doing it. Take yesterday, for instance. My Dad was doing the tidying up after their dinner, and asked The Hippy is she could put on some music. I think my Dad had some rock music in mind, but before you could say, ‘roll us a fat one’, The Hippy had on something that undoubtedly predated my Dad and was dancing in the living room with her eyes closed and her arms in the air. It was like something out of ‘The Wicker Man’. Although it did look a lot more fun than doing the dishes. I was torn between looking disdainful and waving my paws in the air along with her.

The most disturbing thing about this is the fact that neither my Dad nor The Mushroom reacted at all to this. They just went about their business as if this was completely normal. Now, I know that dancing in the living room is not normal. I know, because I have never seen it done before. Not at my Dad’s when he was a bachelor, not when he lived with That Bastard Dave, not in all the time my Dad’s been with The Mushroom, not at Smokey Joe’s – people simply do not do it. So, have the realms of normalcy completely changed and no one’s let me know? Or – and this is even more disturbing – are my Dad and The Mushroom becoming hippies too?

The Mushroom’s showing signs, to be sure. But more about her later.


One Response to “A Good Stoning”

  1. hayley said

    I don’t know many people that don’t dance in the living room! Tell your Dad and the Mushroom to put some tunes on and and let their hair down. Actually don’t let the Mushroom let her hair down, or there won’t be any space left in the room for you to wave your paws in the air (which i would like videotaped evidence of please).

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