...I heard a screech from the kitchen and my Mother ran through to the lounge wielding a broom and tried to hit something that was crawling on the floor. It turned out that a little green grass snake was hidden in one of the plants and when it had warmed up, it had slithered out. My Mother chased it and now it had side-winded its way through to the lounge and I saw it go under the sofa.
I saw it was a small little thing, but according to Mother’s description, it was a python. I pulled my feet up under me and I watched as another experience augmented my logic. Old Rufus’s barking and my Mothers screaming brought my Father running from the bathroom, dripping water everywhere.
He held a towel in his one hand and looked at my Mother in great concern and told Rufus to shut up. Rufus retreated to the far corner and my Mother told a tale of a huge snake under the sofa. My Father threw down the towel and dropped to his hand and knees, to peer under the sofa and see if he could find the python. I peered down too, careful to keep my feet under me on the armchair.
Old Rufus suddenly forgot about his reprimand and came to inspect too, but before he got next to my Father to check as well, he cold nosed my Father on the arse. Obviously my Father thought the snake had bitten him and passed out on the spot. My Mother must have thought he’d had a heart attack or something, because she stepped over to the telephone and called for an ambulance.
By the time the ambulance arrived with sirens blaring, my Father had regained consciousness and my Mother had brought one of his nightgowns through to cover him up. By this time the whole neighbourhood had come alive to see what had happened. The paramedics rushed in and loaded my Father on the stretcher and started carrying him out. About that time the snake came out from under the sofa. One of the paramedics saw it and dropped his end of the stretcher. That's when my Father broke his leg and that’s why he landed up in the hospital...
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... Bearing in mind that this was the same man who asked the question, if cats like to chase mice so much, then why don’t they make mouse flavoured cat food, it came as no surprise to me to hear why he was wearing a patch, whilst he was waiting for a new glass eye. He was now semi-retired from his vocation, as an information analyst for a government agency. They lived in a big city in the next county and he had to go into the office once or twice a week to work in an advisory capacity.
His office was on the 29th floor of an office block with elevators that could convey a lot of people at one time. As it were, it was a very windy day and as he was coming through the revolving doors into the reception of the building, he yelled out for occupants of the elevator to hold it, just as the doors were closing. They did so and he entered a very crowded elevator.
He was just about to sing along to the elevator music as he usually did after swaying from side to side with the natural frequency of the elevator. He was delighted to find that the majority of the floor selection buttons were lit up and he knew as people got out on the way up, more would get in too, so he could have at least 10 minutes of fun with his fellow occupants.
He grimaced painfully while smacking his forehead and muttering:
"Shut up, dammit, all of you just shut UP!!"
Naturally his glass eye half came out, so he took his thumb and forefinger and pulled it out of the socket completely. He said it was just as well because it was hurting with all the dust blowing into it from the windy conditions outside. He pulled out his handkerchief and commented that it was used and the contents were unsavoury. When he asked for a Kleenex from anyone please, a young lady obliged and handed one to him.
With the occupants of the elevator giving him their undivided attention, he promptly popped his glass eye into his mouth to rinse off all the dust. Apparently a lady standing towards the rear of the elevator started to wretch all over the people in front of her. After the first stop, to let some folks out, a few more got in. My Grandfather standing with his back to the door and facing the crowd took the glass eye out of his mouth and held it up to the florescent light, to make sure it was dust free.
At about the point of putting the eye into the Kleenex to dry it off and put it back into his head, the vomiting was coming in waves from the ladies at the back and those who were receiving the hot liquid on their clothes before them. As the crowd surged forward to escape the vomit, my Grandfather was pinned to the doors and the eye dropped out of the Kleenex onto the floor...
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.... Before my Grandfather Joe and Grandmother Violet were taken back to the station to get a train back to their place, Grandfather Joe had made me wiser in terms of a document called a Living Will. He gave it to me because I was the most sensible one in his estimation, to understand where he was coming from. Furthermore, I’d outlive the whole lot of them and therefore he’d like to give me the responsibility of carrying out his last wishes.
The Living Will entrusted to me read:
I, Joseph Edward Steven Laws, being of sound mind and body, do not wish to be kept alive indefinitely by artificial means. Under no circumstances should my fate be put in the hands of pinhead politicians who couldn't pass fifth-grade science, if their lives depended on it, or lawyers/doctors interested in simply running up the bills. If a reasonable amount of time passes and I fail to ask for at least one of the following:
Glass of wine, sex, chocolate, Margarita, chocolate, sex, Martini, cold beer, chocolate, chicken fried steak, cream gravy, chocolate, sex, Mexican food, chocolate, French fries, chocolate, pizza, chocolate, ice cream, cup of tea, chocolate, chocolate, sex and chocolate...It should be presumed that I won't ever get better. When such a determination is reached, I hereby instruct my appointed person and attending physicians to pull the plug, reel in the tubes, let the 'fat lady sing,' and call it a day. I want the ‘fat lady’ to sing; ‘Wish me luck, as you wave me goodbye’.
There comes a time when you should stop expecting other people to make a big deal about your birthday. That time is age 11. Rufus died that year and was buried in his favourite spot, under the front window. My Father replanted the flower garden over where he lay. When I was 14, all I wanted was a girl with nice boobs, a nice arse and nice legs. So I got even friendlier with Gail next door. So now I was 16 and Gail had nice boobs, a nice arse and nice legs. She didn’t smell like soap anymore and I discovered that the eel story was in fact not so, but there was no passion. I decided I needed a passionate girl with a zest for life...
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