The Cool Auntie

Yesterday evening Mrs. B and her brood came for a visit to my hovel as they drove through my city on their way home to Alberta. I rarely have visitors as my whole apartment measures less than 400 square feet and not only is space at a premium but so is physical seating. I can accommodate four people max and that is exactly how many were in my place last night. I got to see her kids again who I have not seen for about four years and now that they are 9yrs and 7yrs that is a really long time in kid growth units. I wouldn’t have recognized them if I passed them on the street. The older one, G, regaled me with tales of his guinea pig James who apparently is quite the jumper. James is named after James Brown, the Godfather of Soul. Now that makes for one funky guinea pig. G sports quite the groovy long hair cut and when he told me his favourite band was Green Day I couldn’t help but sneak a snide look at his mom as it became shockingly obvious that the apple does not fall far from the tree. Mrs. B, a very respectable lady nowadays, was very much the party savage back in the day and having a kid who likes that new fangled pop/punk music is more divine justice than I ever thought possible in the universe. I think I even snorted with glee.

The younger one, D, is quite the ice cube connoisseur and left his mark both acoustically and olfactorily when he let a fart fly that would have made a trucker proud. Needless to say I was charmed almost completely out of my whole Oreo supply.

Yoshi behaved completely opposite to habit and not only came out to be social but even let the kid and adult visitors pet her. Considering I was almost expecting bloodshed during this visit her soft fuzzy side scared the shit out of me. I am not at all thinking that this uncharacteristic behaviour is permanent as it is her habit to psych me out with these strange personality changes. It is only part of her charm. She is a sneaky one.

Long ago when Mrs. B was pregnant with D she asked me to be her doula. This was a somewhat modified position as most doulas help with the new baby. Since I hold a deep fear of babies and, in fact, all children under the age of 10 my duties were more along the lines of a Brady Bunch Alice character. I was told it was not necessary to wear a blue uniform even though I really wanted to. Mrs. B called me her wife. I came to stay for about ten days at a time and then went home for four days. This went on for about three months.

Mrs. B had to have a caesarian and then that became badly infected. She was managing an apartment complex at the time and her husband worked a full time job as well as went to university full time. Obviously they needed some help around the house. G was about 3 ½ years old and still a handful. My duties were to help clean, do shopping and laundry, make meals and pick up G from daycare.

I am a somewhat queasy soul and have been accused of being obsessively fastidious along the lines of Felix Unger in ferocity. While I never had any kind of diaper duty I have to admit I was mentally challenged daily by the sheer volume of mucus, urine and fecal matter involved in the upbringing of spawn. My previously unchallenged immune system was put into overdrive, then pooped out entirely and I was almost constantly sick with some sort of viral or bacterial infection. It became a family joke that I was probably best suited to life in a bubble; perpetual singledom devoid of all human contact.

Funny jokes at my expense aside I enjoyed my time hanging out with Mrs. B’s family and I still believe I was more of a hindrance than a help. I am not much of a cook at all and spent a great deal more time in bed with strep than doing laundry or cleaning kitchens. Mrs. B has a wicked sense of humour and there were many laughs and funny moments. But it is G who is responsible for the best story from that time and it came up in conversation last night.

One night I was compiling all the ingredients for a make-your-own-pizza meal. Little G came up to me and asked me what was for supper. I told him he had to guess but he was at a loss and needed a hint:

Me: It is your favourite food and it is round.

Little G: Corn?

Me: Nope. It begins with the letter P.

Little G: Ummmmmm…PORN?

Me: Um….no….


I am the cool Auntie Kranki but not that cool.

A picture of me taken by G.