Wench Mum Chronicles

I am amazed that the Wench Mum has not tracked me down here in Wisconsin to tell me that I have to remember to say my "Morning Mantras" everyday. She has been known to RUIN my romantic holiday in the tropics with such classics as:

1. "Did you remember to pack the surgical spirit (methanol)? Make sure you disinfect your hands before AND after you eat your meal. You don't know what kind of germs they have on your cutlery." (Wench Mum, would you like me to disinfect the cutlery as well?)
2. "Make sure you gargle with iodine before you go to bed. You never know what kind of germs they have in the sea." (Wench Mum, can I instead pollute the tropical sea with bucketfuls of iodine so that all the germs are killed and I don't HAVE to gargle before I go to bed?)
3. "Do not eat raw vegitables in the tropics. They may be washing your lettuce in sewage water." (Wench Mum, who in their right mind is going to wash lettuce with toilet water! Especially on a resort!!!)
4. "Don't use tampons in hot countries. You might get a yeast infection." (Wench Mum!!! I am on a ROMANTIC HOLIDAY!! I am NOT going to be shedding my endometrial lining while on holiday. I don't intend to ruin my sex-life while I am here!)
5. "Are you alive?" (No, Wench Mum, I am dead, and I am talking to you from a dirty morgue with no air conditioning. Sorry, can you speak up? My ear has rotten off and I can't hear you so well. Oh, and the damned maggots are really itchy.)
6. "Don't drink the water, and make sure you don't drink anything with ice in it. But make sure you don't dehydrate, drink lots of fluids. Water's the best. But don't drink the water." (Wench Mum... you make no sense!)

This is not right. There is something wrong with the Wench Mum -- I was almost certain that she was going to call me on day one to tell me to always wear a bullet proof vest and a blue helmet with the UN symbol on it. "They have guns in the US you know! GUNS!!!!!"

Can someone remove her genes from me?

The Wench Mum, amongst her excentric ideas and actions, has the following items on her must be "exposed to the public" list.

1. Location of Butter In The Fridge: The location of the butter must be on the top left shelf of the refridgerator. Reason: Wench Mum may go blind the following moring but will still be able to locate the butter if she wants to make some toast for breakfast.
2. Removal of House Dust Using Recycled Wet Tea Leaves: The vacuum cleaner, according to the Wench Mum merely scoops up housedust from the nozzle, only to expell it from the exhaust. While this may have been true for Japanese home appliances built in the 1950s this is not the case today. Wench Mum insists on drinking green tea, spreading the wet tea leaves onto the wooden floor to sweep up the dust with it with a broom. Reason: It's been done this way for many years, and anyway, the tea leaves are wet so they will pick the dust up. Oh, and green tea is cleansing.
3. Sleeps next to torch, telephone, and Fabreze: covered in previous post with actual picture... probably self explanatory. I won't bother you with the details.
4. Refusal to Dispose Of Anything That "Could" Be Recycled: The Wench Mum has been known to keep bedsheets purchased over 32 years ago (I know, coz it was there before I was born!). Reason: She may be able to make dolls' clothes with it one day. Oh, or even a mop "if I shred it up, and put it on a broken branch." (good luck, Wench Mum)
5. Conversations With Inanimate Objects. The Wench Mum not only has a monologue, but actually has a discussion with these things. She used to have an alarm clock that never went off on time APART from the days that she asked kindly to wake her up on time. Reason: The Alarm is my friend, and she does not like to be talked to in a nasty manner. Isn't that right, Alarmy?
6. Refusal To Leave House On Weekends. There was one long weekend when I went trekking with my friends. On return from my trip I found my mother sitting in the same location in front of the TV just as I had left her 3 days ago. "Hi Wench Mum, you look as if you haven't left the spot -- haha. So, did you leave the house?", to which she responded, "Yes, I went to the veranda to water the plants. Reason: There is enough food in the house, why leave?

So why don't I have a number 7 in the list? Well there is, plus a little bit more, but I'll tell you about them some other time. But, in the meantime...

Can someone remove her genes from me?

I seriously wonder if my father was forced into marriage/servitude with the Wench Mum. It would not surprise me in the least if she suddenly got constipated, found a "lump" in her stomach, and believed that she was pregnant.

"Papa Wench! Look what you have done to me! Can you feel it moving slightly? That is your doing, Papa Wench! I AM WITH YOUR CHILD! Now what are you going to do about it? Better buy me a rock, and go and see my father to tell him that I am up the duff."

My father being a kind, and honourable man (and somewhat gullible considering that a "baby" is not located in the descending colon of a constapated woman) went to see the Wench Granpa to ask for the crazy woman's hand in marriage. My grandfather being of old school 1) did not believe that people of negro descent were humans, 2) this person of negro descent was knobbing my mother => bestiality 3) would hear no such idiocy as for the two of them marrying. He'd rather see Michael Jackson marry Bubbles any day, but not his prescious little (consipated) daughter to this subspecies!

On June 5th 1972, after the bride had consumed a bottle of epsom salts and "popped" the smelly package, my poor father, like some of his ancestors, became a slave. A slave to the Wench Mum...

And now that Papa Wench has been dead for 17 years I get to see first hand the evil this woman is capable of showing. After a disagreement over an open window her blood pressure shot up and *phew* *pwang* *whoaoooo* (thank god she does not know any martial arts) -- there were projectiles aimed at me with military precision of the People's (Not So) Democratic Republic of Korean army (a.k.a Kim Jogn Il Land). There were tissue boxes, kittie toyz, dirty laundry -- name it, it was flying. She even kicked Belle to get out of her way which started on my deep, calm, but annoying defense.

"Wench Mum, you are 60 now. Please do not act as a 6 year old. Also do not abuse my cats, they have nothing to do with the open window. Just calm down, take a step from you emotions and analyse why you are so angry over an open window. Just take a deep breath and then we can discuss this in a civil manner...."

"WWWHHHHHAAAAAAAATTTT! I AM THROWING THINGS COZ I AM ANGRY!! WHY CAN'T I THROW THINGS!"

(*SIGH*)

"Yes, Wench Mum I can see that you are angry, but is it constructive throw things at me?"

"WWWHHHHHAAAAAAAATTTT! ITS NOT A QUESTION OF RATIONALITY!! I AM ANGRY!!"

(maybe if I sprayed her with the fabreze it would remove her temper and all will be calm...)

Oh if only there was a "kindergarten" to help old people to learn about social skills and etiquette. Just because you have managed to cheat death for 60 years is no excuse for treating fellow humanity -- espeically your progeny -- like their primary care taker. I love you Wench Mum, but no more projectiles, please? It scares the cats, and god forbid if there were grandchildren?! I really do not want to have a court order on you to see your flesh and blood. Oh dear....

Can someone remove her genes from me?

The Wench Mum will be celebrating her 60th birthday this year on the 15th of March. I wanted to be a good daughter and buy her something special for her birthday present. I sat with her over dinner and reminded her of the upcoming celebratory day.

"So Wench Mum, what would you like for your 60th birthday?" I asked trying to sound enthusiastic, knowing that she will come up with something that is totally silly like "Oh I would like a jet-ski" when she neither has a boat license, nor can she swim.

She sat there for a little while thinking about what she could have for her birthday, when she suddenly raised her right arm and started to "throw" imaginary projectiles towards my face. The woman's madness has just reached a new level; I am sitting opposite a woman who is swinging her arms in complete silence over the dinner table. Even the cats are chosing to ignore her actions.

"A dart board. I want a dart board DWR. I don't want one of those plastic, electronic things. I want the real thing, with real darts."

A 60 year-old biddy, who does not live in the real world, armed with "real" darts is a public nuicance, and a REAL danger to those that live within 10m of her (i.e. me and the cats). This year for her birthday she is not getting what she has asked for. Once she can prove to me that she will not be a menace with her declining motor functions and that it was not sinility that lead to her poor original judgment, I will buy her a kiddy dartboard with suction cups on the end of the darts. My vet bills are high enough as it is without adding treatment fees for my "impaled cats". No way.

Dartboards my foot! You are getting bifocals this year, mum!!

Can someone remove her genes from me?

As someone who took courses at college in Neuroscience (neurophysilology, psychology, neurotoxicology, neuropharmacology, etc.) I always find it extremely fascinating to study the workings of the human mind. In general I can keep a distance from my subjects and analyse them with vigor, but unfortunately with the Wench Mum this is not the case... however on close examination/analysis she is probably one of the most fascinating subjects that a biomedical scientist can come across.

Take for instance somethinig as simple as one's "thought process". The Wench Mum is unable to string a bunch of sentences together that is coherient to most.

"Oh the pollen levels are high today, and Belle go and eat your food, DWR what time is your brother coming around for dinner, can you put the kettle on for me, love? Make sure my mug is warm, I don't like cold, hot drinks. So what was your boyfriend's name again?" Not only is her ability to switch from one topic to another is admirable, but also her ability to switch to the next tangent is unmatchable. Yes, that is the Wench Mum.

If I were to place a CCTV and recorded this conversation from a different angle I would have seen the Wench Mum wiggling in front of the weather report on TV, her eyes gazing over to Belle who was not eating her food, which reminded her that my brother, Bwana K, was going to be round for dinner so maybe she can ask him to pack a few cans in his new Range Rover. The woman's thought pattern orginiates from what she sees, and how she reacts to it emotionally, or to plan according to the neuronal imputs, all of which is highly vocalised. If I went around verbalising my actions, plans, and wishes (esp. to inanimate objects) this sort of action usually warrents a visit by the men in white coats...

Was she anything like me at my age? Or am I worse than her at my age? If that is what I will be turning into in 28 years time I would need to take myself to Holland for a one-way ticket to Shangri-La.

Can someone remove her genes from me?

I am back from my holiday only to find the crazy bitch is delighted that a being that "responds" is back in the house. The Wench Mum drowned me with her energy draining kisses and her life- force sucking hugs when I returned.

"OOOOOHHHHH!!!! It is nice to have an interactive being in this house; oh George do not chew the plants and Belle you are going to eat your food. I wonder who raised these two, I just do not know!" (she makes no sense as ever!!!)

Fuck, I need another holiday to get away from this woman!!!!!!! GRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!

Can someone remove her genes from me?