My old aunt, Olive, from all accounts and calculations is turning one hundred years old. I think it is next week, the 06th. I should be wishing her health and happiness and congratulations on achieving such a milestone, when in reality I hope the poisonous old bitch is in pain.
Does that make me a terrible person? Lol.
What a piece of work! I love that expression. What a piece of work! She truly is a testament to the old adage, that only the good die young.
According to the modern day meaning of respect, (you know, you are breathing) she should be afforded all the respect in the world. She is 100 years old, after all. A grand old age.
According to the traditional meaning of respect, (you know, you earned it) I say bury her now, why wait until she is dead.
My mother always said that her sister had tragedies in her life and that we should make greater allowances for her. My wonderful father, who really, never said a bad word about anyone, (I take after him. Big smile) responded quietly with, “She didn't need tragedies in her life to turn her into a bitch.”
My sister used to go to Olive and Selby’s Warracknabeal farm regularly, a four hour drive from Melbourne, my father has retold the story how they drove Roz up there once, and Olive took her and shut the door in my parent’s face. One story among many stories of Olive’s unpleasant behaviour.
I still remember the day that Shane came into our lounge room, not all that long ago, and said,
"Christian, Auntie Olive is here," and he saw me visibly shake.
“What!”
“OMG,” he said. “I wasn’t expecting that.”
“Auntie Olive,” I said. “Is here? What!”
It was his Auntie Olive and not mine.
So, Auntie Olive, one hundred years old. May you drop dead today and not make it to the milestone.
[follow up, great news, the old bitch died 6 months before her 100th birthday, maybe there is a god after all?]
No comments:
Post a Comment