I have an Aunt who loves to eat but doesn’t really LOVE food. She isn’t really a foodie, lover of different fresh flavours, exotic cuisine or anything of the sort. Her idea of a culinary treat is to go to the Wimpy on a Saturday morning and order a double thick strawberry milkshake. If she feels like it, she’ll order a second!
We had lunch at our house once, and over the Christmas season, everybody brings their share and we all lay it out on the table and help ourselves. The menu on that day was cold meats and salads. My mom laid out her beautiful platter of cold leg of mutton and cold chicken and salads. Aunty L hauled out her tins of sweetcorn, baked beans and
(bright, illlumenscent) polony. My mother’s face?…………………………………………..priceless.
Now meal times at our house are a frikkin hoot. On the one hand we have my Aunt L and my mom (sisters) and my Dad and Aunt L’s husband (brothers). Yes, correct, two brothers married two sisters. They have two daughters and we have three girls in our family. Me, being the middle daughter. It’s loud. We take the mickey out of everybody. Our husbands literally cower in fear. My Afrikaans brother-in-law mistakenly said fondoe once instead of Fondue. With an ue sound. That happened in 1991. We still roar with laughter over it and mock him. He doesn’t dare answer back.
This Christmas I’m spending three weeks with the family. I’m rather excited at the prospect. There’s NEVER a dull moment. The first week is painful and all your senses scream to get you out of there, the second week is awesome and you get into the kooky rhythm and the third week you start counting down the days to normality. Just like everybody else…….. I guess?