I am the Walrus (Pup)

Posted on May 2, 2007


My entire family is on MSN Messenger now. This includes both my parents, my grandfather, cousin, and uncle. This obviously grossly limits what I can put as my personal message and display picture. My father, especially, is easily alarmed and almost any personal message causes him to believe that a major disaster has taken place. One time, I had for some reason the line “sitting on a cornflake, waiting for the van to come” as my personal message, and my dad called (international) asking if I was okay and what was this about a van? Did I want cornflakes? But I just like the Beatles! My sister texted me later requesting that I be careful with my MSN personal messages, as my dad had called and interrogated her about my welfare.

Earlier today my mother popped up on MSN and conducted an extremely thorough and frankly expressed cross-examination, which is unlike her. She prefers, in person, sneaky little questions which a new-born kitten could see through. I have inherited this inability to practice guile, unfortunately (along with an inability to understand other people’s jokes, utter gullibility, and social retardation). So I was taking aback when she asked me in quick succession, not bothering to even skim the enter key, how my driving lessons were doing, was I managing to cope with the Egyptian driving style, and – in what would have been a surprising change of tack for other people’s mothers – how things were going with M. I responded that we were still broken up, whereupon she asked if I had another “proposed future husband”. My mother clearly believes I am far more lovable than I really am, if she thinks I have men lined up neatly like that. Actually, she has accurately detected my long-time strategy of not breaking up with a guy before another prospect has emerged. Nevertheless, there isn’t anything even remotely gossip-worthy going on (what with the shortness and the baldness and the emigration of men), and I told her so. Swiftly, she moved on to asking how my plans for moving to Australia were going, informed me that she had called my grandparents to wish them a happy anniversary, and then asked, “How is your stool?” My mother is a scientist, you see. A metallurgical engineer – but she’s still comfortable with words like “stool”.

I was, at this point, furiously typing two word responses. Other inquiries that followed: how my sister was doing, and would I download and read a book called “Heaven is so Real!” by Choo Thomas. Now, the most cursory knowledge of me would preclude thinking, for one moment, that I would read any book about the supernatural, religious or not; a book whose title ended in an exclamation mark; and one having anything to do with a person called Choo. However, one cannot expect one’s parents to enjoy such perspicacity, what with most Middle Eastern children leading double lives, so I just politely declined to read the book (actually I said it sounded crazy, and that I didn’t care). She asked me to try, and when I said no again she cheerfully signed off with various motherly cooings of love.

Please let them not find this blog.