New Year Resolutions

January 4, 2011

I like this habit in Humans. Drawing a line in the sand. Promising to be better.It shows an awareness of their own weaknesses.  It’s twee.  Cats don’t bother with this. We’re ace. We just continue to be ace, and to lick the area where our testicles used to be semi-smugly. Only semi, mind, as the fact that they have been removed still sticks in our craw somewhat.

The Mushroom has two. Resolutions, that is, not testicles. She has no testicles.

Anyway, her first one is this:

1. Be less concerned with aging.

It is Sunday. The Mushroom is staring at her eyes in a pocket mirror whilst standing by a window. It is making her look insane.

“Love?” asks my Dad. “Love, what are you doing?”

The Mushroom sighs. “I’m seeing if I have more wrinkles. I think I do. Look. LOOK!”

My Dad knows better than this.

“I can’t see any wrinkles.” he lies.

“Look. LOOK AT ME. Look at my eyes! MY EYES!”

My Dad shakes his head. “Come sit down. Let’s talk about this.”

The Mushroom slumps onto the sofa. She is keeping her face very still.

“What’s wrong with your face?” asks my Dad.

“I’m trying not to move it. It’s moving it that causes wrinkles.”

“So you’re just not going to move it?”

“I don’t know. I think that might be quite hard. I’m moving it now, to talk. Maybe if I just don’t move it much.”

“Right,” begins my Dad. “I think that we need to talk about this properly.”  The Mushroom mumbles in agreement, trying not to move her face.  My Dad takes a deep breath, takes her hand and strokes it. “You do know, don’t you, that you are a living organism?”

The Mushroom looks stoney. “Yes, darling. Of course I know that I’m a living organism. What’s your point? And please stop making me talk.”

My Dad leans forward, as if talking to a very confused child. “Living organisms get older. The only way they would not is if they were not living organisms, but were instead, let’s say, a chair. Do you want to be a chair?”

The Mushroom glowered. “No. I do not want to a chair. Don’t mock me. ”

“My love, my beloved one, light of my life, I am not mocking you. You are, however, a woman who is trying not to talk on the grounds that she might get wrinkles.  Let’s recap, then. You are a living organism. You know that living organisms get older. You do not want to be an inanimate object like a chair. Do we agree on all of this?”

The Mushroom hissed something that sounded like a profanity.

“Excellent! So now put that mirror away and shut the bollocks up about your eyes, you insane crazy haired baboon woman.”

He was doing really well.  He perhaps was onto a winner right up to the point where he called her a ‘baboon’. You should never call a woman who was nicknamed ‘Gorilla Baby’ at primary school a ‘baboon’. Apparently, when a youngster, The Mushroom sported a monobrow and an interesting line of black hair down her spine, a look, incidentally,  she revived during pregnancy. According to legend there was a moment circa 1983 when she was getting changed for PE at school, the rest of her class saw the line of black hair down her spine, and ‘Gorilla Baby!’ was spawned.

She does not find any reference to this amusing.

Humans are insane. Of course she has lines round her eyes. She’s the wrong side of 35. I am puzzled as to why this bothers her so, when as a direct result of having The Baby she is left with a stomach that resembles Zoidberg from ‘Futurama’. If I were her, I’d be much more concerned about that. I guess you pick your battles.

So, after three days of not talking to my Dad and looking in mirrors for any sign of her beard returning, she did admit that yes, deciding to not move one’s face to prevent wrinkles was perhaps a tad self-obsessed, and she would try to let it go.

Her second resolution is this:

2. To read more to ensure her brain didn’t actually turn to mush.

The Mushroom was at the fridge.

“What beer do you want, love?” she asked my Dad.

“One of the European ones, please.”

“A Corona?”

There was a pause. “Whereabouts in Europe is Mexico, sweetness?”

There was another pause. “Get your own frigging beer.”

Later that week…

The Mushroom was looking over my Dad’s shoulder at an essay he was marking.

“Where’s that name from? Japan?” she asked, looking at the student’s name.

“No, he’s Korean.” he replied. “He boards at the school.”

“Korea?” she said. “North or South?”

My Dad looked at her incredulously. “South, love. Definitely the south.”

“Oh.” she said. “Right you are.”

My Dad has one resolution.

1. Stop being patronising when your wife is having a crisis of confidence or an entire lapse in Geographical knowledge, otherwise she will actually hit you with the snow shovel.

The Baby doesn’t have any resolutions, obviously, because she is a Baby. Kind of.  If I were to suggest one, it would be to grow more hair.

My resolution is to write more, and to stop simply sitting by the heater in between bouts of eating ‘Meow Mix’, my new and exciting catfood which comes in individual yellow bowls and is avant-garde in its flavour choices. Liver and crab? Hello. Tuna and beef? Intoxicating. I can’t get enough of it. Some days, I eat three of them.

Should I be worried that it’s made in Thailand?

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