Terror toy

When I was a kid, I used to have a furby. That furby lived on the funny little shelf-headboard thing behind me bed, which wasn’t bolted to anything so it would shake around whenever I jostled my bed.

Anyway, one night I turned in my sleep and maybe it was some violent sleep-turning because next thing I know I’m being woken up by a very loud furby, right in my ear.

Let me tell you right now that you have not experienced true terror until you’ve woken up in the middle of the night to a furby yawning in your ear and saying in a piercing voice “cockadoodledoo!”

As if furbies weren’t scary enough as it is.

Bodily functions

You never really think of it this way, but cats are pretty damn good at embarrassing you in front of new boyfriends – or at least mine were when I started going out with Sam.

It was about three years ago, and I still lived at home. Sam and I had just gotten together, so everything in our relationship was exciting and delicate – uncharted territory. We were still reasonably polite and shy around eachother, which is more than I can say now. We have well and truly left manners behind.

So it was still early days, and Sam came to visit me where I lived with my family in Welcome Bay. Because he was my second ever boyfriend (I didn’t get out much), I’d never established any rules with my mother. As a result, we spent a lot of time hanging out in my room together. As we wandered into my room one day, a foul smell assailed us. A quick glance around the premises revealed the source of the stench: cat poop in the corner. I knew who the culprit was too, because we had one cat (out of about four) who was notorious for doing her business inside, despite being able to go outside whenever she wanted.

There are few words to describe the humiliation I felt when I realised I would have to get down on my hands and knees and clean up fresh cat poop in front of my brand new boyfriend. I still have not forgiven the cat for that.

My other embarrassing cat, Tasha, was a sickly Russian Blue. She’d had a never-ending cold for a million years, and spent a lot of time sneezing. And when Tasha sneezed, well, it wasn’t pretty.

One evening, after Sam walked me to the front door, he stopped to kiss me goodnight and we heard an almighty sneeze beside us. We both turned to look at Tasha, who was gazing happily up at us, a long line of cat snot coating the whiskers on the left side of her face. You’d think that was bad, but the worst was yet to come.

Quickly, so quickly I barely even saw it happen, Tasha stuck out her tongue and sucked all the snot back up into her mouth and swallowed it, looking up at us happily all the while.

Luckily the hilarity of it triumphed over the grossness of it all, and Sam and I still laugh about it today.

Your reality

I’ve just learnt a new thing. There’s a term called “Gaslighting” and it’s a form of mental abuse. 

I came across something on Imgur (which I’ve seen a few times before and never cease to be entertained by the idea) that said:

‘1. Gather a few willing people (no more than three, including yourself.
2. Target a random stranger.
3. In order, over the course of the day, have each person bump into them and say the following:

“Wake up.”
“You’re in a coma.”
“This isn’t real.”

4. After saying your phrase, walk away and pretend like nothing ever happened.’

Someone in the comments section said “Sounds like a good idea…. but I’m pretty sure this is gaslighting.”

After clicking on the link they shared, all my excitement for this hilarious idea fizzled out when I realised it was considered a form of abuse. As good ol’ Wikipedia put it: “Gaslighting is a form of mental abuse in which false information is presented with the intent of making a victim doubt his or her own memory, perception and sanity. Instances may range simply from the denial by an abuser that previous abusive incidents ever occurred, up to the staging of bizarre events by the abuser with the intention of disorienting the victim.”

While little hi jinks like the bumping into strangers story sounds like fun and games, gaslighting is a bit more serious than that usually, especially as a tool against a partner in an abusive relationship. In a way, I suppose, it’s one of those things that can be terrible in the wrong hands – the hands of someone using it for EVIL.

Still . . . anybody up for convincing a random stranger they’re in a coma? 

 

Fire and stuffed toys

I can remember the first time our parents did a fire alarm drill on us as kids. My brothers and I failed dismally.

I remember it well. Matthew, Robert and I were standing on our pillows on the floor, pretending to surf. The alarm went off, and the three of us picked up our pillows/surfboards and held them underneath our arms as we swaggered, yes, swaggered into the office where the sound was coming from.

Mum and my stepdad were sitting there with the alarm, looking disappointed that we hadn’t even attempted the get low, get out method that we hear on TV so often.

They made us practice it a few times after that, but Robert and I both got in trouble for trying to save our teddy bears in the escape. I remember wondering how I could ever possibly leave my teddy Tiberius behind in the event of a fire.

It’s funny what’s important to kids.