Random Wednesday

Today feels as random as a polar bear wearing a floral shirt in your living room.

I'm seriously hoping that hasn't happened to any of you because it will just totally wreck my analogy.


Why is today random? I dunno. If I knew it would cease to be random, wouldn't it, clever?


The office is as quiet as a morgue. Roo is off work for exams, JK is off sick, Boss is off galivanting in Durban and Chips, Icing and I are at the office, wishing there was some wet paint that we could watch dry.


So let me tell you a random story from my cache of millions to match the random mood of the day. It is, of course, about my family. And if I have told it here before, I'm sorry. But I don't think I have.


When I was 14, about to turn 15, I was stuck for a birthday party idea. Having already done paintball, a picnic, a play and loads of other things, I decided to go with a purple party, where everyone had to wear my favourite colour.


It was going to be a girls' night at my parents' house with pizza, videos and pillow fights (no - not in our underwear! Get your minds out the gutter. Freaks).


My gran was visiting at the time, along with one of my cousins. And my crush, Brendan, had decided he would come along too. I told him he'd feel out as the only guy around, but he insisted he wnated to be there (come to think of it, which guy wouldn't - loads of pillow-fighting chicks and pizza all to himself). I stupidly decided it was a sign of dedication and agreed taht he could tag along.


The evening kicked off to a great start - people turned up wearing various shades of mauve and violet, and the pizza was dished out in box-loads. But while we young innocents were awaiting Brendan's arrival and gushing over whatever chick flick we were watching, my mother had deviously opened a bottle of bubbly in the kitchen for the family.


My gran, who has the alcohol tolerance of a flea, had two sips and was tipsy. When Brendan eventually arrived, she was giggling like a school girl and blushing down to her elbows.


In between my psycho friend Lauren telling me that she was going to smother herself (because I wasn't spending enough time with her alone) and watching my (supposed) friend Nikki flirting outrageously with Brendan, I saw my gran swan into the guest suite, where we were listening to our teeny bopper music and chattering away like Alvin and the Chipmunks.


She sweetly (too sweetly I see now) asked me if I had "that Macarena song" on CD. I said I did and asked why. She declined to answer and floated off again.


Suspicious, I followed her into the kitchen, where she was practising the Macarena dance. It was very cute to see Granny doing the whole dance routine completely out of order, but it instantly stopped being cute when she suddenly announced to my family that she planned to take off her prosthetic boob, strap it on top of her head, and perform the Macarena on the kitchen table for all my friends and Brendan.


I screeched.


She giggled and made as though to undo the top button on her frilly granny-blouse to get afore-mentioned boob out.


I screeched again, this time much louder and with gusto.


Needless to say, I was NOT going to let that happen.


I turned on my heels with great haste and made to fetch that bloody CD and burn it immediately.


That was when I realised that Brendan was standing right behind me, stifling his laughter. I turned the colour of a fire engine and wished I could dissolve into a puddle, wicked witch style.


Ten years down the line, I can laugh (sometimes out loud so that it scares people) when I recall that moment of teenage embarrassment. And I can be thankful for such an entertaining family. And a gran (and maybe even backstabbing Nikki) that definitely saved me from any involvement with Brendan (who went on to get his new girlfriend pregnant the next year and then skip off to England).


There's my random memory for today. And my parting words... your family may be more normal than you imagined!