Happy Birthday Granda
It was a tough week emotionally so I was glad to glad to get back up to the cottage. It’s Granda’s 89th birthday and there was much to do about it on our boat ride over to the island. My family doesn’t talk like normal families (I’m told), especially at the dinner table, especially when my brother Tommy and I are trying to make each other laugh. So, sitting on the porch last night, eating a restaurant-quality supper of mini-steaks, potatoes, beans and garlic bread, we got a bit naughty.
Tommy was talking about nicknaming a child at the camp he worked at ‘Big Willy Style’, and I warned him against calling a kid any name with ‘Willy’ in it. Not getting the joke, my Mom asked “What’s Willy mean?” and, without hesitation, I said, “Penis. In the UK, they call penises Willies.”
As Granda murmured about how in her day no one ever said that word (and I said quietly, “That’s progress”) my brother said “penises” over and over to himself. “Penises… penises… Is that the right word? Is it ever peni? What’s the plural of penis?”
Granda looked at everyone and said, “Why would you ever need more than one?”
I had so many follow up jokes in my head I had to excuse myself from the table.