I’ve already introduced you to the sweet but befuddled couple that represents my mum and her husband/friend (Note: I don’t say “lover” because I pray this isn’t true. She’s my mum, so that surely can’t happen. Ever. Noooooooo!)
I thought I would share some special times with my mum and her Maurice…
Brigitte picked up some cake tins from her mom’s apartment, came back downstairs and got back into the car where the rest of us were waiting.
Mum: Brigitte, what are those cake tins for?
Brigitte (puzzled): Baking cakes.
Mum: Oh right. (A short pause to reboot her brain.) What time are we going out to dinner tonight?
Amélie and Charlotte are at the shopping mall to see a movie while Mum and Maurice wander around.
Amélie: Ok, grandma, Charlotte and I are going to see the movie now. We’ll meet you right here at 9:30pm.
Maurice: Ok, we’ll see you in the parking lot at 10:30pm.
Amélie (complete disbelief): No, HERE at 9:30pm. Grandma, did you get that?
Maurice (interrupting again): Right. Sorry. So, it’s here at 10:30pm.
Amélie: Not 10:30pm, 9:30pm.
Maurice: OK then…so why did you suggest 10:30pm?
(Amélie texts me that she wants to bet $10 that we will never see the two of them again.)
It would be easy to misunderstand me. Maurice is not a total idiot:
- He took apart a broken mixer that the girls swear worked perfectly earlier in the day when they used it to make an applie pie. He fixed it.
- He took apart my gas-powered (petrol-powered) brush cutter because the fuel line had broken. He (a) did not blow my house up, (b) did not set himself on fire, and (c) fixed it. It took him some hours and a trip to the hardware store for a new 3/16″ fuel line, but he did it.
As I said, he is not an idiot. He is an idiot savant. This is entirely different. 🙂
Regarding the repair of the fuel line, I was drafted in to help with getting the spring retainer back on the line to the mini fuel filter. I was concentrating on getting two pliers to catch each end of the spring and loosen it enough to allow it to slide over the bump that holds the spring in place.
Maurice: If it were me, I’d be doing this outside in the sun.
Me (as spring slips because I lost concentration): How about we stay here just for now.
Maurice (after a short pause to wait for me to get everything finely balanced again): It looks like it will be sunny all day today.
Me (as spring slips again): #$%^@
Unfortunately, both Maurice and my mum are of the age or possibly generation that feel the best thing to do in life is to share every single thought, no matter how trivial and inconsequential. There’s no filter, just constant random babbling. Conversation with them both is very easy, even as it covers nothing substantive.
My mum and Maurice live near the beach in an Australian approximation to Florida, and they dress more casually than people from the ‘city’. After knocking to make sure everyone was decent (as I always do with teenage girls who forget to close, never mind lock, doors when they’re changing), I wandered in to their room this afternoon to discuss dinner plans. Maurice was lounging on the bed after some time outside in the sun. He was wearing nothing but bathers. The Speedo kind. Older readers will remember these (with flashbacks that require the intervention of a therapist) from the 1970s, or maybe even from the movie Meet The Parents. I managed to escape with only partial damage to my eyesight, but I think one of my eyes bled for quite some time and I may need to take an iron supplement. Also, Maurice and I need to have a chat about the definition of “decent” in the 21st century…
(The only question you might ask yourselves is whether or not every single one of these are verbatim transacriptions or not. I’d tell you, except you wouldn’t believe me.)