A Conversation With Weasil

 22 April 2021

Story #1023

R. Linda:

Yesterday, I heard from Weasil. He seems to be having a time of it in Scotland. Besides being active in the movement for an independent Scotland, he's been trying his hand at parenting, and I must observe that things aren't going as well as he might have hoped.

He told me they tried to take family portraits recently, and his boy Maximilian would not smile, which made his wife Amanda ticked. All that money goes to a professional photographer, and here they have photographs of three happy people and one grumpy kiddo. 

He then changed that painful subject to talking to an American friend recently, who told him that in the States, this person believes Kamala Harris kills children, and the J & J vaccine was halted because it had baby embryos in it. Further, the devil is recruiting more followers every day, and Weasil has to wake up as all this "true" info is on the Internet! Weasil said he be done with this person, the same one that told him Hillary Clinton was eating babies on pizza dough. I'd laugh, but I know people who actually believe this rubbish. 

I decided to change the subject and asked him about his health and the family's. He said he was exercising and in pretty good shape, but he pulled a hamstring twice and tore a tendon in his finger, so he couldn't use it for six weeks. OK! Then he added that Man United is "F--king" up English soccer.

I tried again to get off the negativity and asked him if he was gardening his roses or what exactly he was doing with himself. He said his father offered him a very lucrative job, but he's done nothing about it. "Do you intend to?" I asked, and he said, "Dunno." I cannot see the Weasil with a 9-to-5 job, so I doubt he will take Daddy's offer.

He, in turn, asked me what I was doing in these pandemic times, and I said with two of the kiddos home and one in full-time school, I was learning to bake meself all those goodies I love. I didn't feel it was right to make Mam bake them, so I have taken on the process meself out of boredom AND am eating everything I bake, so I am getting FAT! Other than that, I lead the life of Cinderella or Cinderfella in me case, without the fancy ball and beautiful Princess. Just me and the scullery mice . . . 

He then said they had so much damn Easter candy he wanted to throw it away before he, or Amanda, got diabetes. I told him I ate all of ours single-handedly, or is that single-mouthedly? I saw it lying around and wanted to get rid of it, but all that money spent seemed a shame to throw it in the trash bin, so I consumed it. 

He said he never thought he'd get sick of Smarties, but he is. I said, "I know, but I choked those down anyway. Now, I am wearing Smarties on me hips." 

He said he had to stop the other day and thought, "What the hell am I doing? I am not even hungry . . . I just am eating these things out of habit now." I said, "Well, I look like a human pumpkin." And he replied, "Like I say, I have been working out, but it is oddly enough only getting me injured."

Oh yes, I said, the best-laid plans and all that rot. Not me, I just lay around a lot . . . eating. My jaws are the only things getting exercise.

"Are you getting any sleep?" he asked. "I have two monsters who wake me up at different times at night because they are scared. You'd think at their age, this wouldn't be happening. Max thought it would be a nice touch to jump on me last night. It was just a gentle easing out of sleep I needed at 4 a.m."

"Oh gosh," said I, "the child is a midnight paratrooper and you're the landing zone. I sleep to eat!"

"Both of them have literally crawled over my face to get in bed with us."

"Well," I ventured, "what are they scared of, or is that just an excuse?"

"Max has the encouraging dream of 'Daddy, I had a dream you died.' The other one just crawls into bed as a routine." 

"I don't know why I find that slightly—and I emphasise the word 'slightly'—amusing. It isn't like your kiddos are tiny ones," I said, all the while thinking how very odd the children's behaviour is. But look who the parents are, and it isn't odd at all.

"Nothing is amusing at 4 a.m. Ima not sure what his trouble is, he's back in school full-time, so I think the change is bothering him. He got into three fights, and one was with four other kids. We are hoping he adjusts soon. Next fight, we will have a "talk" with the headmaster."

"If you are feeding him American-made cereal, maybe it's the ground-up baby tissue in their cereal." I postulated.

"That would be Kamala Harris's fault, according to the idiot I told you about earlier, they say that she watches late-term abortion babies die on a table. No, no American cereal here, just the standard Scottish porridge."

"Oh, does she? I wondered what she was doing with her time. She is up here today for God knows what, when she should be at the border."

"I hear her boss is coming to get everyone's guns." 

"I wish he would get rid of the military-grade weapons, our swamp Yankee neighbours have hordes," I responded. "Every weekend it's boom, boom, boom, boom, boom! It feels like a war has broken out. All the peace and quiet we were looking for is shattered every weekend by the sounds of gunfire all day long."

"You should move back to Old Blighty and live in the Scottish Highlands. The sound of gunfire is occasional during hunting season, but the rest of the time, it is just the wind."

It sounded nice, but I have become so Americanised that I would probably feel unsettled to move back, especially to any remote place that doesn't sell Smarties!

Gabe

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