Tea With The Family

I predicted that a ‘cuppa’ with the family was going to be eventful and I wasn’t disappointed. At 14:10, mother is nowhere to be seen. I install the new PIR light in the front garden and then I turn back on in.

“Strange” I say to Matt, “a girl can’t be spared thirty seconds to get her shoes on for dog walking when it happens, but ten minutes late for a cuppa is okay.”

Naturally it’s the double standard that annoys me. Late is late, is it not?

I resort to not pressuring Mum, “treat them how you are” and all of that. If we get to half past and she’s not here, then I’ll call and make sure she’s okay.

At 14:22, the phone goes.

“Outside.”

“Okay?” I reply, I’m confused. Why are you not coming in?

“Dog walking?”

There’s a tone in Mum’s voice that isn’t missed. You’ve forgotten it, you retard!

“I thought you were coming up for a cuppa?”

“No, I’ve got Lady with me.”

“Oh, I thought you were goofing around and being funny with me.”

“No, I did say dog walking.”

“Yes and I said that I thought you were just going to come up for a cuppa? You said a cuppa to begin with”. I’m sticking to my guns on this one. Mum said about us going to her house or her visiting us for a cup of tea. Dog walking was never mentioned until it was.

“Oh, no. So do you want me to take Hugo for a walk and come back for a cuppa?” she offers.

“If you want to” I reply. It bothers me not what she wants to do. If she’s rearranged me so that she can recover from her Saturday antics, I’m preserving my energy so that I can enjoy my Friday fun. I’d already turned down visiting her on the Friday, she knows I’m occupied. If I have to respect her time and her plans, she’s got to learn to respect mine.

It’s quiet for an hour and my anxiety peaks. It’s not that I don’t trust other people or their dogs, I just don’t trust them with my dog. I try to believe that he will come back to me in one piece but it weighs on my mind that he won’t. It’s a bit like letting your kids out to play; you don’t know if they’re okay or what they’re up to. Don’t judge me, just because my son has fur.

“How was he?” I ask as Mum gets back, Hugo’s tongue is almost on the floor and I chuckle. Lady is just behind him.

“Really good! He’s almost better when you’re not there” Mum says. It stings a bit, but I think I know why. Hugo is trained to me, but Mum and I sound similar. He probably thinks she sounds like me.

Plus, he’s always adored his “Nanny”.

“Hello, Lady-boo!” I say, I’m down on the floor and I’m with that pile of black fur and flubber. She’s a sweet girl but there really is nothing between the ears sometimes. Hugo gladly shows off his box of tricks for a treat, Lady watches him as though he’s malfunctioned.

I’ve always worried about having Hugo and Lady in our small apartment, and yet it’s surprising how little room they take up. Once Lady had gotten used to the place and who was here, she gulped down half of Hugo’s water bowl then picked up one of his super-tough tennis balls and led herself down to chew, Hugo found another and led down next to her. For two destructive little monkeys, neither could pop the ball. My mother was impressed.

“Heyo, Skizzy” comes a voice, it’s my Ickle Big Bro.

“Oh, wow!” Mum says as she steps into our lounge, I forget that neither of them have seen it this side of the New Year. My mother and brother take a few minutes to coo and ahh over the niceness of our lounge now and I smile a smug smile. It’s amazing what you can have when you get organized, huh?

“Tea or coffee, guys?” I ask. The orders are almost as unique as the individuals themselves.

“How much coffee, bro?” I ask, I’m sure he’s told me before. I remembered his ‘one and a half’ teaspoons of sugar, which I find a bit odd, but okay. Why can’t we just be normal and have whole ‘spoons?

“One and a half” he says with a laugh. Okay.

While I make drinks I hear my mother discussing the news with Matt and I resort to humming to myself. My catastrophic thinking, I’ve realised, stems from my mother, and once she’s implanted her own fears into my head then my mind runs away with them. I can’t hear nearly so well when I hum.

When I return with drinks and carrot cake, talk turns to my next product review and my blog.

My family all know what I do, and even if there are some limits (I wouldn’t encourage them to visit Kinky With A Twist, for example), we are all fairly open with one another. I apologise to my mother that her once foresnsicology-leaning daughter is now a kinky sex blogger.

“It doesn’t bother me, you know how open we all are” she says.

Mother offers to advertise my blog on her profile, and though I’m tempted, I decide to decline. As much as I love her, Kinky WIth A Twist is my work, it’s my business, not a painting for her to hang up on the wall. I haven’t been too impressed with her behaviour in the community generally as of late either, I don’t want to risk her ruining my name.

I do remove the ‘diary’ link on KWAT as well. If she does decide to search for me and visit me, I want to reduce the likelihood of her reading my rambles. There are things my mother does not need to know!

“If you get asked to review any flavoured lubes, for heaven’s sake decline. Good slip but they are vile!” my mother advises. I smile.

“How do I indirectly tell my mother that I already know what flavoured lube tastes like? It depends on the brand?” I ask.

“Sorry, Mum” I add. We all laugh.

I do get slightly annoyed with my brother telling me how I should review a aex doll, though I do listen to his thoughts, his concerns, his experiences and advice with caring for such products. I’m quick to point out that I look at all products in terms of usability for a person with disabiliies, not just in terms of whether or not it can get you off. That is my niche, that is was Kinky With A Twist does. I cater predominantly for a set group of people.

“I’ve just become an affiliate for Lovehoney as well” I say.

“Lovehoney?! Oh wow! That’s a big name” Mum says. Finally, and in the weirdest way, I feel like she’s finally proud of me.