Look, the thing is, I have a very low boredom threshold. And as I’m used to watching TV over here, where there are still a lot of adverts but not as many as you get at home, my mind wanders whilst watching TV. And The Mom’s family room, is, now Crazy D’s office cum man cave, but still there are vestiges of its former glory as The Mom’s nice TV room. Such as the heron.
Though, I believe that used to be an outside thing, though it may have wintered in the garage, which is now no longer an option due to it being full of The Mom’s car and all our worldy possessions. So the heron was out of house if not home.
And then there’s the basket of dog toys which started off containing only very nice plush store-bought toys but quickly was reduced to a second home for stray mitts, gloves, balls, and tights. And that’s where I found the glove. It wasn’t meant as an offensive gesture, though I did find it odd that after dinner everyone retreated to his or her own room with his or her own screen and his or her own pet. Having only a screen, and The Birds’ room, sans birds, I was slightly miffed that nobody wanted to watch TV together. Especially Crazy D with whom I enjoy spending a few nights fighting in front of the TV and eating potato chips.
Anyhow. This whole banana thing is not new. The Mom likes to let a banana languish or marinate until she freaks out at the sight of it. I do the same thing over here in England, it’s just that as it’s only me living here, I know who left it, and as my fridge is tiny by North American standards (though in the new flat it’s big by UK standards) I can see the banana and know when it’s going to go off.
The issue here, is not the banana. It is the fridge. The Mom’s fridge is a force unto its own. Before, when it was just The Mom living there, we used to find it amusing, when we were home, to stock the fridge with all kinds of interesting things which would then fester and transform themselves, which always ended up in an angry phone call from The Mom and that was fun because it was a weird game of Columbo played out of an afternoon, with The Mom trying to describe what the offending item was, and one of us trying to guess what in God’s name she was on about.
When we were younger, in university maybe, we’d all come home for Christmas, and L’il Sis, Crazy D and I would play a fun game, called Get Crazy D a Bit Tipsy, Blindfold Him, and See What He’ll Eat, straight from the fridge. It was always a short game, but a few rounds was enough to send L’il Sis and I into peals of laughter.
Beyond the fridge, and its many fun games, and emotional forecasting, The Mom is quite famous for leaving random notes around the house, and it’s never clear whether or not these are for us or her, or anyone simply passing through. You could actually run the house, bare bones, based on these notes alone.
But they’re nothing when compared to The Fridge. It’s always full, but there’s never anything to eat. There are, at least, twenty sauces available at all times, but never the one you want. The ponzu sauce I’d stashed away from prying – read helpful and cleaning – eyes was gone this summer, but would’ve gone beautifully with the salmon we were eating.
What I love about my family is that even though I am no longer living there, they will not throw out my random collection of sauces – of which there are many, and most of them will not have labels in English. To do so would be to throw me out and none of us are having that.
Oh, and since we’re on the topic, when I’m home this summer, Mom, please see that the ponzu sauce stash is topped up. I assume we’re having salmon for the duration of my visit.