Mom & Pop

My Dear Fellow,

Back in April I set up a shared Google calendar so we could track all of our appointments and engagements. I was very proud of it. Er Indoors looked at it sniffily and said, "I need a printed out version so I can tick things off."

But you can tick things off on the app, I protested. "Not good enough," she said. "I'm just a tactile person. I am what I am."

So she created the "analog calendar". I mention this because I have superimposed it on my normal blip above so you can see what we are up to over the next couple of days. For me, it's a busy week.

On Tuesday, Er Indoors & I went to see J&M. We hadn’t seen them for (I reckon) about 5 years and Er Indoors swithered about getting in contact. Not that we’d had a falling-out. I think it was just one of those things where we’d left it so long, she was embarrassed.

“Oh darlin’,” said M on the phone. “Don’t even apologise. Then I’d have to apologise too. I mean, it’s not like I couldn’t have got my lazy @ss onto the 34 bus to come see you.”

So we fell right back into the old relationship we had with them. And I’m sure you remember what that is like. J&M have always been like surrogate mum & dad to all the Kiwi, Aussie, Irish and American backpackers who made up Er Indoors mates back in the day. Way back before she met me, Er Indoors would spend all her time on their couch, drinking, laughing and watching festy people do disgusting things on reality tv. Er Indoors and M would have fun cackling away together while J rolled his eyes.

When I entered the picture, they welcomed me in too. We had so many Christmases together, with M’s delicious food being brought out while we watched “Jackass” or “101 Most Shocking Celebrity Moments”. You were there for at least one of those, right?

Last night it was like 1999 all over again, except we none of us are young anymore. M talked about the menopause and the increased risk of getting a nip trapped in her knicker elastic. Meanwhile, J described gunshot wounds to me and why all action films are BS. I should explain. He’s from Detroit.

They’ve also got a new kitten although I barely saw her except as two saucer-sized eyes peering around a corner at me. J&M have had many cats in their time, but this one is the first one OBSESSED with M. The kitten leaps from the top of bookcases onto M’s shoulder and sleeps on her every night. She also gives M a thorough wash at bedtime, going all around the neckline of her jarmy top. “I have to make sure I pull it up high,” added M. “One night she hit nip and I nearly went through the roof.”

Apparently the kitten is so intent that M goes to sleep wet. “J leaned over to touch me and I was SOAKED,” said M.

“That’s not REALLY what happened though is it?” corrected J. “Actually, you grabbed my hand and said ‘here’ and the next thing I knew my hand was covered in cat spit.”

But this is unusual. Typically the cats go for J. They described how one cat followed him for days before deciding to just go into their apartment. This would have been okay, but they also had a pet flying squirrel named Puck. The two had to be kept separated at all times. Fortunately, Puck was entirely nocturnal, so “Cat” got the days and Puck came out in the evenings. Cat would be shut into the bedroom and they could just see a paw waving around under the door in kitty frustration while Puck flew around the room.

“He was a fast little b*gger too,” explained M. “Getting Puck back in his cage was nearly impossible. J had to reach him because he’s so tall, but Puck would land on his shirt and then run around to the small of his back. When J went to reach for him there, he would already be back around the front.”

So J had to strip down. Puck couldn’t get as good traction on skin and this slowed him down just enough. “So J would be reaching into the far corners of the room in his tighty whiteys,” giggled M. It is tradition that all dignity is stripped from J when she tells her stories. I’m glad to see that rule is still in play.

You can imagine the talk, I’m sure. We talked a lot about Brexit and how that worries the pair of them, about Honey-Boo-Boo and how his Presidency might end, and the fact that his election sounds like the start of a really bad sci-fi novel about Armageddon. And the food kept coming. Ribs and corn and mashed potatoes. Good American cookin’.

Which reminds me. We also talked a great deal about M's cleavage.

"Godammit! I lost another piece of corn down there!" she muttered.

Er Indoors agreed. "I've been dropping your dinner into my boobs all night. Men just don't realise the hassle of big t*ts."

"Totally! And it's not like you can just heave one of those suckers outta the way in company," agreed M.

"And it can get into some really hard to reach places and it's UNCOMFORTABLE," said Er Indoors.

"Absolutely!" said M warming to her theme. "And I'd be like, 'I don't even remember EATING diced carrots...!'"

J had his head in his hands at this point. And the years fell away, it felt to me just like I was back on the couch of their Tollcross flat again.

You can go home again. We have the best surrogate parents.

Parsones