Weekend Of Mixed-Metaphors

My friend Sabeen from Dubai flew back home yesterday after spending a few days with us. She's always such easy company, almost like having a sibling come over for a bit. She's like one of those rare people your'e so comfortable with, you could both be in the same room for hours without that burning need to make forced conversation. Ironically, when she and I get together there's hardly ever a moment of silence.

After seeing her off at the airport we proceeded to The Benoni Cousins. Some day I shall dedicate an entire blog post to them.
Always great fun, even the eldest who's a few months older than I am and loves playing grandfather.
Sabreen has an absolute blast with her cousins and it's very seldom that we visit and don't end up spending hours in their company.

Enter "Uncle Fester."
There's always that one weird uncle at family functions, isn't there.
Either they dress funny, or they smell funny, or they're gay as jailbirds.
In this case he's the uncle that brags about how many wive's he's had, swears a lot even if he's telling you about somebody's funeral, and wears horrible brown leather sandals that match his scurvy long-nailed feet perfectly.

When I grow older I want to be that uncle that the kids look forward to having over.
Not for any other reason but because they look forward to my company.
I once had to endure an afternoon with a relative who insisted on telling me the intricate details of his hemorrhoid operation. True story.
I was meant to go for soccer practice and was in the process of locking up at home, since I was the only one on a Sunday that hadn't left early. The doorbell rang and I thought it was the gardener. Turns out it was an uncle of mine I always tried to avoid.
Before I could tell him that nobody was home, he waddled in and asked for tea.
I made him the most miserable cup of tea thinking this would have him leave early. Fifteen minutes later and with me pandering to his every moronic need bar baking him a cake, he finally tells me that he needs to catch his breath before he leaves because he just had an operation the week before and he tires quickly.
Twenty years later and I still regret the one single dumbest question I ever asked anybody: What operation?
This led to an hour long detailed snip-by-snip account of his piles, the period before their arrival, their arrival, his bonding session with them,the tear-jerking Indian-movie song-and-dance goodbye when he realized they had to leave, and finally the separation
At some point I thought he was going to ask me if I'd like to see the scar.

Imagine that!
Him dropping his pants to show me his wrinkled stinky brownstar and somebody walked in on us!!
Good Lord I don't know where I would put my face!
Needless to say I missed soccer practice that day.

So if I ever end up like that kind of Uncle, please won't you call the SPCA on my behalf and have me put down, as a service to society!