Mali Zub finally slept for a couple of hours last night (and I got more than, gasp, 3 hours of sleep), which means that my brain is maybe hopefully beginning to work again, and we can get back to business.
Which leads me to today’s topic: Children of the Corn (I mean Peasant)
Life is weird enough when you’ve got Peasants for Parents, but it gets even weirder when you toss in friends and neighbors when they find out that, yup, you and yours ain’t from around here. Which for us was pretty much right off the bat, considering that my parents spoke with crazily-thick accents and every person who ever visited us looked like they were straight off the boat.
Which inevitably led to one of the following questions:
“Your parents are what? They’re from where?”
Or: “What does that mean? What kinds of things do you do?”
As a ten-year-old born and bred on Saturday morning cartoons, the questions got a little boring after a while, a little lackluster. So I always tried to spice things up a bit in my answers, telling people we were from Australia instead of Eastern Europe, that we worshipped cows instead of Pope-like people, and that we spent out spare time doing corn-husk-a-voodoo.
“A-what?”
“You know. Corn-husk-a-voodoo. We make voodoo dolls from cornhusks. You know, for people who are bugging you.” Pause. “Like you.”