Mr Special meets the Family –
Chapter 1 – The Scash’s: 20th May, 2013
A year or so before we got
married, one of our first trips together was to Melbourne, to frighten Mr
Special by introducing him to my family, en masse no less...(isn’t this what
one does when one wishes to break it off??).
Somehow Pete managed to make it
through the initiation ceremony, which consisted of being handed a very large goblet
of red wine & then unashamedly grilled by my dad & his three ‘short-arsed,
barrel chested’ brother’s with questions ranging from family history to farming
facts & figures, (they all nodded as he spoke, but I knew damn well they
had absolutely zero idea of what he was talking about!).
Thankfully they didn’t get into discussing ex-girlfriends
or suspicious rashes, but that was probably due to the dirty looks they were
getting from my aunties, (and dinner had probably arrived)! Suffice it to say, Mr Special made it through
the ordeal, which was confirmed when I looked across & saw them all smiling
their ‘red wine’ smiles, telling inappropriate jokes & mercilessly sledging
one another.
I always knew Mr Special would
fit right in with my family, even before he met them...we have ‘ducks disease’...he
has duck’s disease, we like red wine...he likes red wine, they all laugh at their
own jokes...he thinks he’s the funniest man on earth!
On our yearly pilgrimages to
Melbourne, it is always made very clear how much Pete has slotted in to the
Scascighini clan. He is the fifth
brother they never knew...although we all knew Gran desperately wanted a
daughter, but I shan’t go there!
No sooner do we land at Christmas
time, but Pete is whisked off to the Boxing Day test, (corporate box of course)...taken
fishing....chauffer driven to the golf club to meet ‘the boys’...& where
can I be found...in the backyard in Balwyn, sweltering in 42 degree heat with three
bored kids & not a blade of grass in sight, (as the Italian in dad doesn’t
believe in grass!).
Pretty much the only thing (apart
from the height issue & of course the poor choice of football team issue!),
that disappoints dad & my uncles about Pete is that instead of playing
football, he has chosen to play hockey...apparently this is a girls game, which
consequently makes him a bit of a fairy & fair game for ribbing. Without fail, dad rings at the beginning of
every hockey season to make sure Pete has remembered to iron his hockey skirt
& wear a clean ‘g-banger’.
In hindsight, maybe I should have
married a serious tall person who doesn’t drink, (or a Volvo driving
Collingwood supporter), then I wouldn’t find myself holidaying without the
other half of our gene pool. Instead I
can be found waiting around until 7pm to greet dad & Mr Special, post 47
Crown lagers, who had a ‘F-A-N-T-A-S-T-I-C time’...&...”what’s wrong with
you??”...curtains, Cowcher...curtains!
Further to the love fest going on
around me, & to add insult to injury, dad used to take it upon himself to
personally pick up a slab (the correct term for a ‘carton’ of beer may I add!),
of Mr Specials personal favourite...Emu Bitter...which, to quote one Victorian bottle
shop owner, “are you kidding me mate? I
wouldn’t use that s**t to clean my barbie”.
Thankfully with his tastes maturing (at least something is!), Peter has
decided that Corona is more to his liking (with a slice of lemon of course),
which is lucky ‘cause dad receives no grief when buying it & I hear it is the
‘beer of choice’ at the Boxing Day test! (...& the last time I looked, the
sparkling wine section is vast & easily found in any bottle shop, but can
dad find me a bottle of bubbles....of course not, because he has his hands full
with Mr Specials fabulous Corona’s & bloody lemons!).
My only come back with all of
this madness raging around me is to occasionally remind everyone of the time
Pete nearly killed dad by putting two heaping teaspoons of salt in his tea (instead
of sugar)...how’s that corporate box looking now Mr Special!
Jen
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