Often, when I look in the mirror these days, I see my mother looking back at me. Maybe it's because I've lost a little weight and wear my hair short and straight. Maybe it's the glasses. Maybe it's just genetics.
Sometimes, I catch myself wearing an apron and leaving it on after I've finished cooking.
Recently, I found myself buying a pair of loafers from Lands' End.
Sometimes, I find myself worrying about having developed attitudes and opinions, as well as physical attributes.
I'm turning into her.
She died in 1995, so I don't think anyone else has noticed yet. However, I'm meeting up with my brother this week so I wonder if he'll spot it. If he mentions it, I shall brandish a photo of our father from the early 1970's and show him how much he has turned into Dad.
J's Dad came to visit on Boxing Day. (Read, J had to drive over, pick him up and take hime back.)
He wouldn't have anything to eat while he was here and complained about the temperature of our house. We had turned the thermostat down as soon as we knew he was coming and were wearing polo necks indoors.
J's Dad has an internal, unspoken rota for playing his children off against each other. This week, he is raving about one of his daughters' new bungalow, accompanying it with such comments as 'I expect you lot will be stuck here for the rest of your life.' Nice.
We talked about our forthcoming trip to California. It is, apparently, 'a shithole'. Nice.
He laughed at his grandson's height as he left the house. Nice.
Nevermind. There are 364 days until next Boxing Day. Nice :)