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R. Linda:
Well, personally I became rather fond of being referred to as a "twit" by me cousin Connor, who if anyone has the know all to know a twit it be him. He be a twit of the first magnitude, no doubt about it.
Connor decided when I was five and he was ten (maybe he was seven), to use me as a kiddie toy. He had this slingshot he had stolen from our mutual grandda and since he had nothing to fill the sling, was pelting me with daisy heads. When these did not have the desired effect, he took up twigs, which when hit against the skin, can make one jump, but don't hurt all that much. Still determined to see me jump around, he finally realised river pebbles were quite like marbles, only smaller and the sting was worse. He chased me around all afternoon while our respective parents picnicked on the side of a river bank. They were too engrossed in their conversations to realise Connor was looking to put the hurtings on me very badly, and all I got when I would yelp, was this: "Gabe, stop whooping like a girl!" - from me own da that came. When I finally came up crying me bloody eyes out, me mam told me to, "Buck up and be a man there Gabriel." Then she saw I be covered in welts and told me to, "Come here laddie, let me put some bug ointment on you, bejayus you look like ye have a case of the hives ye do."
So she slathered me with bug ointment, me all the time choking on me tears, trying to tell anyone who would listen that me cousin Connor was trying to kill me. When I got no response because they were too busy talking, I plopped meself down next to them so me killer cousin couldn't get a good aim without hitting one of them.
When he couldn't get me to "play" he joined us and proceeded to slyly kick me with his boot. Under his breath (and not to be heard by the adults in company), he kept calling me a first class twit. I turned to me auntie (his mam) with me eyes wide as saucers and one hand covering me mouth in shock and said, "Connor just call me a TIT!" He got such a beating for that, and let it be said, it was the first of many because each time I saw him and those narrow slit yellow eyes of his, knowing he had it in for yours truly, all I had to do was yell he was calling me a TIT and it was all over for him.
So there you have me knowing about twits and why I didn't mind being called one.
Gabe
Copyright © 2008 All rights reserved
R. Linda:
Well, personally I became rather fond of being referred to as a "twit" by me cousin Connor, who if anyone has the know all to know a twit it be him. He be a twit of the first magnitude, no doubt about it.
Connor decided when I was five and he was ten (maybe he was seven), to use me as a kiddie toy. He had this slingshot he had stolen from our mutual grandda and since he had nothing to fill the sling, was pelting me with daisy heads. When these did not have the desired effect, he took up twigs, which when hit against the skin, can make one jump, but don't hurt all that much. Still determined to see me jump around, he finally realised river pebbles were quite like marbles, only smaller and the sting was worse. He chased me around all afternoon while our respective parents picnicked on the side of a river bank. They were too engrossed in their conversations to realise Connor was looking to put the hurtings on me very badly, and all I got when I would yelp, was this: "Gabe, stop whooping like a girl!" - from me own da that came. When I finally came up crying me bloody eyes out, me mam told me to, "Buck up and be a man there Gabriel." Then she saw I be covered in welts and told me to, "Come here laddie, let me put some bug ointment on you, bejayus you look like ye have a case of the hives ye do."
So she slathered me with bug ointment, me all the time choking on me tears, trying to tell anyone who would listen that me cousin Connor was trying to kill me. When I got no response because they were too busy talking, I plopped meself down next to them so me killer cousin couldn't get a good aim without hitting one of them.
When he couldn't get me to "play" he joined us and proceeded to slyly kick me with his boot. Under his breath (and not to be heard by the adults in company), he kept calling me a first class twit. I turned to me auntie (his mam) with me eyes wide as saucers and one hand covering me mouth in shock and said, "Connor just call me a TIT!" He got such a beating for that, and let it be said, it was the first of many because each time I saw him and those narrow slit yellow eyes of his, knowing he had it in for yours truly, all I had to do was yell he was calling me a TIT and it was all over for him.
So there you have me knowing about twits and why I didn't mind being called one.
Gabe
Copyright © 2008 All rights reserved
2 comments:
Greannmhar!
Gesundheit! LOL I don't speak Irish but a few curse words. Me friend does though and just told me you said "Humourous!" Thank you.
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