Persnickety old woman

Hidey ho there and welcome all! This here is me blog. My web home of madness if you will. Since this is my blog, one will note much tongue in cheek humor, sarcasm, and down right silliness. If you be of the sensitive nature or one of those who must defend even the most annoying bug to ensure its rights are not violated, then ye best be moving right along. No need to stop here cuz ye not be welcome. I am a no party pooper allowed kind of persnickety old woman.

Me name is Pippi, short for Pippersnickernoodlesky, which was bestowed upon me by me deranged Mum, God Bless Her. The poor woman was mad from the start. Her idea of ensuring her daughter would be unique and not forgotten began with her consideration of naming me Marie Antoinette.

After much cajoling by family of the possible ill effects of saddling a wee one with the curse of "off with her head", she opted to lean towards a more kid friendly, wholesome name. I, personally, think she was off her rocker.

Madness is not uncommon from me kinsmen. Some of my family prefer to shun and hide out all those with slight personality quirks. Me, on the other hand, I say, bring them buggers out here and let all of us be entertained. There isn't anything more fun than listening to someone in a heated discussion with no other visible people in the room. Gives one a chance to hone their creativity, say in the form of ventriloquism.

I had the bestest fun with this when I was but a young lass. Me gran she be a friend to many, most of which were unseen. I snuck into the living room one night when she thought I was asleep. I could hear her from my bed, she was really giving my auntie a tongue lashing. Quietly as I could I crept over to the tv and hopped behind it.

For those younguns who ain't used to nothing but them there flat things hugging the wall, this here tv was one of them there floor models. The sucker was four feet long by two feet wide by three feet tall. Plenty big enough for a youngun of ten to hide behind.

So, I waited...and she started again.

Gran to her "friend": "Well, I tried to tell that girl but she went right ahead and ran off with that no count fella. Then she wanna come cryin to me but do I feel sorry for her?"

Me (using the deepest voice I could muster): "Yes, you should."

Gran (continuing on as if nothing had happened): "Why hell no I don't. Damn headstrong girl. She don't listen to nobody."

Me: "Who do you listen to?"

Gran: "I don't need to listen to nobody. I got my own mind; had my own mind now for years thank you."

Me: "So if you don't listen to nobody, then who you talkin to now?"

Gran: quiet...

Me: "I say, who you talkin to?"

About that time I felt a yank on the back of me nightgown as Gran pulled me out from my hidin spot. Now Gran, she wasn't but four feet tall but she was strong in the Irish temper. Let's just say what Gran laid on me gave a whole new meaning to dancing an Irish jig.

But it was fun. He he. Never tried that stunt again as my backside always started to sting thinking about it.

And so that was how it came to be, once I was of age, I became her escort for public outings. Her vivid and lively conversations gave me no pause to be seen with her.

Now that I have reached the age she was when I tried to out wit her, I fear the madness may be slipping through me veins. There are times when I be studyin on somethin or even in the shower I find myself answering, discussing, and arguing with those unseen friends of mine.

The way I see it the least they could do is bring chocolate when they come over.