Every New Year's eve, my Aunt and Uncle have a huge party at their house followed by a grand fireworks display around midnight, and everyone who knows the family is usually invited. So I usually spend every New Year's Eve and New Years Day with family. Well most, that's if I'm not travelling.
This year was much the same, only we've had a few additions to the family in the last year so there were two or three extra midgets invited to the party. At some point in the evening, conversation centred around babies (as it would with enamoured parents) and I noticed something quite peculiar about myself.
You know how people talk about their kids in random conversations? Yeah well when they do, I find that I end up talking about my Mother. I guess it's because I have no other point of reference and I can't relate to anything they're saying. So we were like:
Cousin 1: Mika's bottom teeth are coming out.
Cousin 2: Dude, Qanita knows more than 100 words already.
Me: Dude, my Mother knows who's Nicki Minaj.
Cousin 3: I think he needs to be changed.
Cousin 4: She repeats everything you say.
Me: My mother quoted Chris Tucker the other day.
Cousin 5: Really? Hahahahahahaha
I think it's both strange and pathetic that I do that. But most of the time it's really funny. Between Mother and her sisters, we have enough eccentricity to power a small country.
This year, my Aunt (mother's sister and party host) decided to trade the fireworks display for a karaoke contest. I don't know what it is with my family and karaoke, they love it. This meant that between the random conversations, we had to endure my Aunt's tone-deaf rendition of Tom Jones's "What's new Pussycat? whoa whoa whoa" in that earnest mock-serious tone that she sings. And when she was done, she demanded an applause, barking out orders: "Hey! Clap for me!".
They went through all of Tom Jones's tracks as well as Engelbert Humperdinck and The Bee Gees. If anything, it provided us with enough laughs until next year. I can't sing to save my life, so I kept my mouth busy with a bowl of pasta. I didn't think it would do much harm. But I was wrong. Serves me right for bragging about my improved health. This is the result of my little gluten-feast:
Notice the rash and pink spots.
Four days in and I'm sitting at home with a bout of Pharyngitis, courtesy of someone who was more than just a little generous with their sick germs at the party. I'm so not ready to get back into the swing of things.