The Apple Sometimes Falls Too Far From The Tree.

From a young age I have been quite aware of the fact that Women can do a lot of things on their own. My Mother is Irish, she was raised on a farm, left home when she was 18 and became a Barnardo’s childcarer. I’m not too sure of the details, but somewhere in there met my Dad, married him, then squeezed out my sister, and I popped out for some chai tea 4 years later.

Six years after that I had watched my mum pretty much raise me and she was my hero. Having little or no understanding of how the world works I just assumed my mum was in charge and my dad was just out all the time at the mysterious place called work or the pub.

I have one good memory of said padre and that was when we fought over my last weeto in my chocolate flavoured turned milk. Two spoons, one weeto. I think he let me win.

Anyway.

They split when I was six, and to cut a long story short my Mum was a shining example of power. I remember standing in the close of our newish house with her and two strangers who had brought a van (friends from college I think), and I remember that my Dad had arranged a meeting so that she could get some things from the house. He wasn’t in, a common trait the Y chromosome holder is prone to exhibit, but something that wouldn’t create an obvious pattern until years later.

My Mum proceeded to boot the door in (I think the friends from college did it) and then took what she wanted and we left.

The years passed and I would watch her fix hoovers, washing machines, VCRs pretty much everything. She was the DIY genius.

I have tried many a time to be as wise and amazing at doing things as she, but to no avail. Like in Utah when I cut my phone charger’s wire from the plug, or when I tried to fix Mighty Mouse and couldn’t get the last screw undone so I just snapped the plastic and made it worse.

I pretty much have the desire to be the superhero she is, but not the ability (or patience), so in this instance the apple is close to the tree but far enough that I’ve not inherited those superpowers.

I’m talking about this because I locked myself in Maddie’s house.

The communal door has a mortice lock which I had had trouble with before, but managed to work it out.

At midnight I went to take Ren and Stimpy for a quick slash before heading home but found that the door would not open. I spent twenty minutes telling myself to be smarter than the door, to be stronger than the door, reminding myself that i have a masters degree and a lock shouldn’t be able to out smart me. I also called it a bawbag a few times.

I gave up and just resigned to the fact that I was staying. I text my mum to tell her and then she rang. About 40 minutes later she was there, taking the keys through the letter box and opening the door without so much as a stutter.

Anne strikes again.

Doors are no match for her.

She did in 0.2 seconds what I couldn’t do in 40 minutes.

I suck profusely.

So I am now home... Yayy. And the dogs got to go for one Bruce Lee and Barry White.

I can’t believe i locked myself in. I am such a spaz.

Fact.