Hair…

VERONICA comes home from the hairdresser’s and finds MUM in the kitchen.

MUM: Oh!  You cut your hair.

 

 

The new haircut. Don't be fooled, I'm happy with it.

 

 

VERONICA: Yeah, I needed to tidy it up, it was getting pretty foppy.

MUM: It looks nice. (Begins to giggle.)

VERONICA: What?

MUM: Nothing.

VERONICA: What’s wrong with it!

MUM: Nothing!  It’s just funny that you’ve gone back to the same haircut you had when you were young.

 

 

Baby

 

 

 

Toddler

 

 

Kid. The mini- me in the white shirt is my sister.

 

 

VERONICA: I know.  I told the hairdresser about that, and she said everyone ends up going back to the hair they grew up with.

MUM: Well it has always suited you.

VERONICA: It has.  Not like that bowl cut monstrosity you tried on me in year 6.

MUM: What bowl cut?

VERONICA: Oh! You don’t remember?  I remember.  I had sides shaved and this round monk like design on my head.

NB: This obviously is not me, but the horror haircut of 1995 was basically this on my head.

 

MUM: But it was stylish back then.

VERONICA: On fifty year old women!  Not on a 12-year-old!

MUM: Ah leave me alone.  You had the same hair style since your hair was long enough to cut and I wanted to try something different.

VERONICA: You should have tried it on your head!

MUM: You know it wouldn’t have worked, I have a funny shaped head. (NB: She does.  She has the typical Polish flat head.)

VERONICA: I was bullied for that haircut I’ll have you know!

MUM: (shocked) You were bullied?

VERONICA:  Ah, I was bullied for other things as well, but the haircut didn’t help.  It couldn’t have grown fast enough.

MUM: Oh well.  That’s life.  At least you learnt that very early on.

VERONICA: Lucky me.

THE END.

 

Then and now.

1985

VERONICA (2 years old) sits in the sandpit playing with her bucket and spade as MUM watches over her.  A plane flies by in the sky and VERONICA shrieks with glee.

VERONICA: (pointing to the sky) HALOTA HALOTA!!!!

NB: Before she could speak English, VERONICA’s first words were Polish.  Here she is trying to say the Polish word for plane, which is ‘Samolot‘.

MUM: Nie kotku, Samolot.  (No kitten, plane)

VERONICA: Halota.

MUM: Samolot.

VERONICA: Halota.

MUM: Nie. Powtarzaj za mną (No. Repeat after me).

VERONICA waits for the cue.

MUM: Sa-

VERONICA: Sa-

MUM: Mo-

VERONICA: Mo-

MUM: Lot.

VERONICA: Lot.

MUM: Sa-Mo-Lot.

VERONICA: Sa-Mo-Lot. Samolot. Halota.

1999

MUM is getting ready for a parent teacher interview with MARTA’s teacher Mr. Hall.

MUM: Dinner’s on the stove, I won’t be long.

VERONICA: Ok. (to MARTA) You worried?

MARTA: Shut up.

VERONICA: You think you’ll get in trouble?

MARTA: Shut up!

MUM: (to MARTA) What’s your teacher’s name?

MARTA: Mr. Hall.

MUM: Mr. Whore.

NB: MUM’s Polish accent makes it a tad hard for her to pronounce words correctly.

Scilence

MUM: What?

VERONICA: Mr. Hall.

MUM: What did I say?

VERONICA: Whore.

MUM: What’s that?

MARTA: A prostitue.

MUM: How do you know what a prostitute is?

VERONICA: Mum, you have to say Mr. Hall.

MUM: Mr. Whore.

MARTA: You did it again!

MUM: Did I?

MARTA: (stressing out) Mum.  Please try to pronounce the L’s.

MUM: Ok, tell me how I should say it.

MARTA and VERONICA: HAAAAALLLLLLLLLLLL.

MUM: WHOOOOOOOOOORRREEE.

VERONICA: No Mum. HA-

MUM: Ha-

VERONICA: LL.

MUM: LL.

VERONICA: HALL.

MUM: WHORE.  Ah. You know what, I just won’t say his name.

THE END.

P.S. Apologies for the Polish writing if it is not correct.  It is certainly not my strong suit.

A love affair with Nintendo: The Beginning

This is from the depths of the memory archives, and one of my favourite childhood stories to tell.

CAST:

ME: Age 9

SISTER: Age 4

MUM and DAD: Married!!!

SET in 1992

(In the Kitchen)

ME: Mum.

MUM: What.

ME: Can I have a Gameboy?

MUM: Maybe.  What is it?

ME: It’s a little nintendo that you can take everywhere with you and play.

MUM: No.

(In the study)

ME: Dad.

DAD: I’m busy.

MUM: (from the kitchen to DAD) Spend time with your daughter!

DAD: (to ME) What is it.

ME: Can I have a Gameboy.

DAD: I’ll ask Santa.

ME: But Dad, Christmas is too far away.

DAD: You must be patient.

ME: But Dad–

(enter SISTER)

SISTER: Daddy.

DAD: Yes.

SISTER: Can I have ice- cream?

DAD: Not now, after dinner.

SISTER: Dinner is too long!

DAD: I tell you what, if I give you a chocolate now, will that make you happy?

SISTER: Yes.

(DAD gives SISTER a little chocolate)

ME: Can I have one?

DAD: You don’t need one.

(ME huffs to her bedroom and looks in her toy box.  She finds a block of wood and has an idea.  With paper and pen in tow, she draws a small picture of a stick figure climbing up stairs as well as two small coloured buttons and navigation arrows.  She smiles at her little creation and begins to play it as if she would an actual Gameboy.  SISTER enters ME’s bedroom watches her.)

SISTER: What are you doing?

ME: Playing my Gameboy.

SISTER: That’s not a Gameboy, you don’t have one.  I know because Dad said you couldn’t have one.

ME: So what? I made my own one and it didn’t cost him anything.

(ME continues playing)

SISTER: Can I have a go?

ME: Make your own one, this is mine.

SISTER: No! I want a go!

ME: Tough! You’re not getting a go1

MUM: (from kitchen) Hey! Do I have to come in there with a wooden spoon?

ME: (to SISTER) Shut up, you’ll get us in trouble.

SISTER: I WANT TO HAVE A GO!

(SISTER charges at ME and they fall to the floor, rolling around on the ground fighting with SISTER throwing punches and ME defending against them.  MUM and DAD charge into ME’s bedroom)

MUM: Stop it!

DAD: What the hell are you two doing?

SISTER: She won’t let me have a go!

DAD: Let your sister have a go!

ME: NO! I made this myself, this is my Gameboy!

DAD: You have to learn to share.

ME: NO! This is mine!

DAD: Give it to me. If you can’t learn to share than neither of you can have it.

(ME gives the block of wood to DAD)

MUM: (to DAD) Is that it? Is that what they were fighting over?

(MUM and DAD look at the block of wood and then at SISTER and ME, still fighting.  The next day, SISTER and ME were given a Gameboy)

THE END