The Mother-In-Law Always Bangs Twice
I’m Follow That Star, better known as FTS. I was asked to fill in here today, but since it was short notice [ahem], I’m using a little something from my own blog that I posted a couple of weeks ago. Thanks to TnC for asking me to sit in while she’s away. It is an honor.
My ex-wife’s mother hailed from England but had lived in the states for twenty-five years. Her Cockney dialect had softened over time and was understandable as long as she didn’t get upset or have too much to drink. It was her slang that gave me fits.
I loved visiting her and my ex’s step-dad. It didn’t hurt that they moved to Littleton, a suburb of Denver, shortly before we were married. I’ll never forget the first night I spent there.
Once the formalities of greetings and the requisite tour of the new home were out of the way, things settled into a much more relaxed mode. The ex went upstairs to freshen up and the step-father-in-law left to make a quick trip to the store. I was alone with my mother-in-law, and she patted the sofa cushion next to her.
“Come, sit down here and have me a chin wag.”
Hmmm. Chin… wagging… a wagging chin… aha! A chat! Blimey.
“Would you care for some biscuits or crisps?”
Biscuits are for breakfast, so I opted for the crisps. They sounded more interesting than they really were. Crisps turned out to be potato chips — and a biscuit is a cookie. That was the strangest thing I’d ever heard until TSB told me she’d never had cornbread.
Later, as I was preparing for bed, the ex had gone down the hallway to the bathroom. Her mother came in and asked if we had everything we needed. Then she popped the question.
“When would you like to be knocked up? Do you fancy bangers in the morning?”
My jaw hit the floor. Did I hear what I thought I heard? Had my mother-in-law just propositioned me?
“Um…”
She stood, waiting for an answer. In my head a scenario played out where I politely declined and she would torture me for the rest of my life. How did I get myself into these messes, I wondered.
Finally the ex walked in. Sensing the silence (and I’m sure the look on my face gave away my confusion), she looked at her mother and asked what was up.
“Nothing. I just asked your husband when he wanted to be knocked up and if he liked bangers, that’s all.”
“MOTHER! “
She turned to me. “Knocking up,” she said as she glared at her mother, “means ‘when do you want to be awakened.’ They call it that because they knock on the door. And bangers are sausages.”
I breathed a heavy sigh of relief.
I’m sure I heard her mother laughing as she walked down the stairs.