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Sunday, 16 September 2012

My mother, the Werewolf Tamer

I've mentioned the utter strangeness and entertainment value I get from my dreams before on this blog. I usually enjoy them a lot, unless they are truly horrific, in which case I spend a couple of days out-of-sorts and trying to forget them.

Painkillers seem to give me even stranger than usual dreams though, although the last couple have been strange in a very amusing way.

 It's pretty jumbled, in the way the interesting ones always are, but the basic plot boiled down to the last home I lived in with my parent, with said parents, myself, and Norman Reedus, wandering around the back yard. No idea how Mr Reedus got there, and to my intense disappointment no motorbike or crossbow was involved.
At some point it turned out I was a werewolf, or werewolf-in-training, which the parents took remarkably calmly. Except... my mom was convinced I was going to dig up the garden, and my dad wanted me to sniff out some critter that had been coming over the back wall at nights and wandering around the place.

So there I am, suddenly in desperate need of Nair, or a 6-bladed razor with a lot of replacement blades, my dad is asking "Can you smell it? What is it? Is it dangerous?", Norman is dipping a toe in the swimming pool, and mom is tapping me on the nose with a rolled-up newspaper and telling me not to even think about going near her rose-bushes.
This little monster may need therapy.


So I mentioned this during our Skype chat this afternoon.

Mom: You were a what?
Dad: Did she say werewolf?
Me:  Yes. Werewolf. And you kept spanking me on the nose with the newspaper because you thought I was going to dig in the garden.
Dad: Bwahahahahah!
Mom: Well, of course I would!
Me: You wouldn't be upset that I was a mythological hairy beastie? Because you took this very calmly.
Dad: *Incoherent snorting*
Mom: You know very well what I'd say to you if you turned into a werewolf! (side note : No. No, I really wouldn't know. I would, however be hiding the silver and anything that could be used as a weapon.) And if you touched my rose-bushes you'd regret it.
Me: Mom, you realise hitting a werewolf with a newspaper is probably not a good idea?
Dad: *hiccuping in background*
Mom: I don't CARE! If it touches my garden, it'd better watch out. Nobody messes with my garden.
Dad: Exactly. *pause* So what was I trying to get you to smell? Do you know?

And that folks, is one of the many reasons I adore my family.