27 JUN, 2012
I’ve become my mother Last weekend, while I was elbows-deep in the kitchen during my regular Sunday cook-fest, something suddenly stopped me dead in my tracks.
Cassie White
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As I glanced around the kitchen, oven full, a hearty stew on the stove and food processor parts in the sink, it was a scene frighteningly similar to the one I knew would be in someone else’s house at that exact moment. My mother’s. I’d officially become her – and I’m not even 30 yet. But at the same time, I’ve noticed that I’m very quickly becoming my father, too. That’s right, I’ve got the two-for-one deal – except I didn’t order it. I’ll compulsively shop for trinkets and other lovelies until I’m euphoric (thanks mum), but bite your head off when I get my credit card statement (dad). I read cookbooks in bed at night (mum), and drive anyone trapped in a car with me insane by changing the music every 30 seconds because I get bored (dad). Most distressing, I embark on rants about “kids today” and their “sh*thouse music” – my father verbatim to me circa 15 years ago. It’s even worse when dad and I crap on about these things together. We’re like two cranky old men sitting on the front porch with shotguns, daring delinquent youths to step on our lawn.
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