My husband handed me his phone. “Here. I saved this for you, because, as a silly person, it’s something you’d appreciate.”
I smiled at him, and took his phone. Silly person. If I needed to describe myself in two words, these would work. Then, right before we began our weekly date with Game of Thrones, on his screen was a Siamese cat, singing in “meows” … the theme music to Game of Thrones.
I laughed and laughed, even when it droned on. He sat through it, bemused, but not moved like I was. I have some intelligence, sure, but when it comes to this kind of internet stuff, I am a total sucker. I basically have the same sense on humour as a fifth grader, which makes me a terrible role model for my children. I’m supposed to be the grown up, the one leading by example; I find this really hard to do. Impossible, even. Because if you take the silly out of my day, if I can’t find a laugh somewhere, I get irritable. It’s almost as bad as coffee, something I’ve given up trying to ever go without. It’s always been this way, and I’m sure it started with my Dad being ridiculous when I was a kid. It was infectious, this ridiculous-ness. I have many examples.
On our many road trips, we’d often see people pulled off at the side of the highway in an effort to relieve themselves. (They must have had less rest stops in the seventies?) I say people, but actually it was always men. I guess these guys thought if you were traveling at high-speed you wouldn’t notice them standing in the tall brush doing the obvious.
Dad did.
He’d slow down and say, “One, two, three, everybody wave!” and he’d honk the horn and we’d all wave at the poor embarrassed sucker we’d just caught peeing.
Sadly I am no better. I was in the car with my friend and her kids when we passed a teenager, waiting by the train crossing before the Sea Bus terminal. We were all waiting, and waiting, and waiting, and to pass the time I pointed out that this kid had not only pants that were hanging very much below the waistline, but that his pants were actually tucked in under the crease of his bum. His whole tighty-whitey ordeal was hanging out under his t-shirt.
‘Hey! Pull up your pants! I can see your bum!” I start yelling in the car.
I knew the windows were up and he couldn’t hear me, but still. There are children in the car, so I should perhaps not be modelling this kind of behaviour. They laugh, and start to chime in.
“WE CAN SEE YOUR BUM,” we start chanting.
Then we discuss how a better pair of boxers would make it slightly more acceptable, or at least interesting to look at, and how the undies in question were not in fact white, but grey, and did they start out that way, etc.
So….ahem. Not my kids. Luckily my best mate’s kids. Still, I apologized to her after. I explained that I try to teach my kids to be kind and not pick on other people for their differences. And I should have pointed that out to her kids. But, he did have a belt on….this was a CHOICE to have his pants hanging there….he had options….
She laughed.
“It’s ok, my daughter would have said it anyway.”
I know better, really I do. You shouldn’t pick on others, regardless of their terrible fashion choices. I can remember being picked on myself, back when I used The Cure as my fashion template. I must be a better role model. This is now my mantra. I must be a better role model, I must be a better role model..
The next day I was telling my kids about my evening out, and how a friend of mine had been to Japan, where you can eat any part of the pig you want. Any part, and you order by pointing to it on a giant poster. Then I told them how she’d had been teased for not trying different foods, and she wanted them off her back, so she ordered pig…(wait for it)….rectum.
“And it came on a stick, like onion rings!”
They both laughed.
Then my daughter said, “What’s a rectum?”
And I looked at my son and he looked at me, with these large blue eyes that said no, Mom. Just stop here. But I could not stop. I was laughing too hard, and again unable to control my mouth.
“Its butt-hole! She had butt-hole on a stick!” And then we were all laughing and I added.. “and she said it was chewy!” and then we laughed until we cried.
My son wiped away his tears and said, “That was totally inappropriate.” Instead of apologizing I nodded, laughing until I fell off the couch into the heap of blankets on the floor. Trying to be a better role model had lasted approximately 17 hours, 8 of which were spent sleeping.
I won’t even tell you about the time I was supposed to chaperone at the Space Centre and my buddy and I were the ones giggling about the distance to Uranus…
I am going to fail at this. All I can hope for is that someone else straightens them out along the way, although acting like a jackass could actually be genetic. Ot is it learned? Either way they might be doomed. Sorry kids, maybe tomorrow I’ll do better.