Just Like Yer Father

My Dear Princess and Dear Fellows,

I had a flashback today. I recalled how, when my parents were going to go anywhere, my mum would start getting ready. 

"Come on then," she'd say to my dad. "Get ready."

"I AM ready," he'd claim, sitting on the couch and reading the paper. 

"You're NOT," she'd say. And then she'd head off to put on make up and clothes and whatever else she needed to do. She was a very proud woman who wouldn't leave the house without being fully "dolled-up" as my dad would put it. 

Finally, she'd appear. "Right, let's go," she'd say.

"Okay," my dad would say. "I just need to brush my teeth and shave and put on a posh shirt and aftershave and find a pair of shoes and..."

And my mum would SEETHE. It became a regular thing. We (as kids) were encouraged to openly mock dad whenever he claimed, "I'm ready".

I'd forgotten about this.

But then me and Caro went to the shops today. Just grocery shopping, so I wasn't too fussed. Caro decided she wanted to come along just for a break and I was fine with that.

"I just need to get ready," she said, and I groaned.

Because Caro is a very proud woman who will not leave the house without being fully dolled-up. And this can take AAAAAAAAAGES. Ooooooooh godddddddddd...

"Aren't you getting ready?" she asked.

"I AM ready," I replied. And as soon as I said the words, I realised I had turned into Tom. Because I really wasn't. I didn't even have knickers on at this point and I'm sure the supermarket has strict knickers-on policies. 

But my point is that there was no POINT in sitting around in full regalia for 90 minutes while I waited for Caro to do doodah-wotsit to her hair and squish on make-up and what-have-you. 

I'd rather sit in my no pants and cuddle Jasper.

So then Caro emerged a while later and announced she was ready. "Right, right," I said, "I just need to put on pants and socks and shoes and find a jacket and get my wallet and... and.. and..."

Caro. Not amused.

But all of those things only take five minutes. Find pants. Put my bum in them. Bang. Job done. 

"Can I call a taxi NOWWWW??" said Caro like a surly teenager.

"Yes, yes," I replied. "See. I'm ready. I'm READY."

Later, I told Caro the story and she smiled sourly. "I might have known," she said. "Your bloody father. We're going to have words the next time he calls."

History never ends. It just repeats and repeats.

S.

p.s. I probably shouldn't be delighted we have dandelions in our lawn, but obviously I am.