My Beloved is a dab hand with a needle. Whether it's being used for intricate needlepoint on a tapestry or a sampler, or being used to prick my rather fragile ego. She also knits.
As we discovered that we're probably going to be grandparents by the end of the year (if all goes well, don't count your chickens before they're hatched, or count your blastula before foetal ejection) my Beloved has gone into broody-(pseudo)mum mode, and is creating a variety of projects, designed for the prayed-for grandchild.
I should point out that it is my Beloved who is doing all the praying. I hope that all the variables will be in my daughter's favour, but mumbling to thin air in the vain hope of invoking an invisible mythical being with supernatural powers does seem a bit far-fetched.
|Believe in me. |
I know there's no proof or evidence.
It's a test.
(OF YOUR GULLIBILTY YOU STUPID HUMANS)
So my Beloved has created bootees, jumpers, bobble hats, 2 samplers based around Noah's Ark (just so the new grandchild is aware that the mythical supernatural being if he/she/it actually exists, is a f*cking vengeful bastard, who is quite capable of obliterating every living thing except the two examples of each species. (This puts your chances of survival at 1 x 3.5 x 10 -9. Encouraging, isn't it)
She also knitted a teddy bear.
Said teddy has some rather odd proportions, but is emminently suitable to be cuddled by an infant. But there's a problem.
As soon as m'son (He of the pierced earlobe and tattooed forearm showing a delightfully rendered image of the Mexican Day of the Dead with the addition of a Chinese script which he was told meant "May the Lord Bless You" but which really says "I've got a Bastard of a Cold) saw the teddy bear, he asked this question of my Beloved.
Son: "Why did you make the teddy bear gay Mum?"
Son "You've made the teddy bear gay Mum", "why did you do that?"
Mum: "No I didn't" "Why would you say such a thing?"
Son: "Look Mum, you've give him a lime green waistcoat, heart shaped buttons, a big red scarf/bandanna and a red buttonhole" "He's gay"
Son: "I don't mind anyone being Gay, but you might be influencing Beanie's (the provisional name of the foetus whilst in situ) sexuality in an unconscious way, and that's not right"
(I blame the schools. Where does he pick up this stuff?)
|This is a nasty teddy|
|This is a nice teddie|
|This is a very nice teddie|
TSB: (Who has been listening in to this interesting conversation) "And that teddy is a zombie"
TSB: "Look at the head" "It's mis-shapen and lopsided" "The eyes are at different levels, and all the stuffing's falling out of the body" "It's a zombie I tell you" "You're going to give Beanie the nightmare horrors before he/she/it's even 6 months old"
Mum: (Getting defensive) "I've not quite finished it yet" "Just wait"
TSB: "I can't see it making much difference"
Son:"He's still gay, no matter what you do"
My Beloved stalks away towards the kitchen.
M'son and I exchange knowing male looks, with raised eyebrows and synchronised shrugs.
We do that quite a lot in chez TSB.
We've got used to it.