Thing One and Thing Two

22 Jun

As a twenty-four year old, teenage boys are a distant memory, and I have long since forgotten the joys of cat calls and ‘friendly’ teasing from the opposite sex. So it came as a bit of a shock to my delicate little girl system when I arrived in San Diego and realised that my two oldest cousins were, indeed, sixteen and fourteen. You might think this strange, and it shouldnt really have come as a shock, due to the nature of ageing, but my mind fondly remembered them as two squishy little toddlers, with mischievous faces and tiny hands, not strapping almost men with facial hair. Woah there!
Lets call them thing one and thing two, for argument’s sake. After their namesakes, the characters in the Cat in the Hat, thing one and thing two had grown up a great deal. At first glance, they seemed pretty painless, but as the week went on and they got more and more comfortable, their faux english accents became a daily pleasure (imagine a cross between Eliza Doolittle and Michael Crawford in Some Mothers Do Ave Em), they readily engaged my in play fights (there is NOTHING playful about being wrestled to the ground by a bloke with the strength of a small horse) and attempted to shoot me with their pellet guns to see my reaction. Charming. I wanted to kill them on a daily basis, and returned to my fifteen year old self where I longed for a world without horrible boys. I yearned for quiet, and praised the lord that my sister had come out with girl bits.
So imagine my surprise when my sister and I took a trip to San Fransisco, and I heard myself say out loud on the plane home, to sister “It was fun, but I missed the boys.” Sorry, what?? Thing one and thing two were ingrained on my person, these irksome bundles of energy being missed when they weren’t there, and actually wanted to be around them, like an unsuspecting moth drawn to the light.
On our last night there, I missed them already, and the plane home was sad. Sister and I begun dreaming about the next time we can visit, and what we would do on our trip. We also plotted ideas on how to keep them occupied when they are here in the summer, happily wiling the time on the tedious journey home.
So the moral of the story is, although thing one and thing two cause havoc and mayhem, breaking bones and rarely washing, they are my things, and I am very fond of them.

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