I believe I may have mentioned once or maybe even forty three times my tendency toward strangeness.
This is becoming more and more evident as I age. It ventures forth from the hidden closet of my mind more than it ever has in previous years. The door seems to open wider and wider with each tick of the clock.
Take, for instance, the Spring ritual.
At least once during the first part of Spring it was my habit to take one or more of the children on a nighttime ride in the car. During this ride we'd roll the windows down, turn the radio up as loud as it would go, and sing and dance our way to whatever destination we decided to grace with our good mood. I remember pretending the car was a space ship with Cutie's dad, bouncing up and down in the seats and doing some wild stoplight moves with the younger kids, and actually having all of them enjoy it!
Until they reached the dreaded age of eleven.
That's when I had to go underground to have my fun. When I attempted to sing along with the radio, even under my breath, I was told to STOP! because it was EMBARRASSING! and THEY COULDN'T STAND IT! I couldn't even nod my head in time to the music.
And the door opened even wider...
That's when I first noticed the accents.
Oh, the kids have told me about them for years. About how I'd develop the dialect of whatever part of the country we were in or whatever person I was thinking about. But I didn't believe them. I speak normally all the time. I never lapse into a southern accent or any other kind of accent. No matter who I'm with or where I am.
At least that's what I thought. Until I started to THINK in accents.
Yup, welcome to my convoluted world. If nothing else it's entertaining. My own little idiot-syncracies, here for the world to see.
I think in accents.
Sometimes British, sometimes French, sometimes Spanish, sometimes Swedish, sometimes German, sometimes Southern, sometimes Russian, and yes, sometimes Scottish. And for kicks I might throw in a good ol' American accent every now and then.
I have no control over it. It comes and goes as it pleases, this little quirk of mine. But it makes life a little more interesting on a gloomy day and puts a smile on my face when I'm bored.
So if you see some old, fat lady waddling down the street laughing quietly to herself in a Scottish accent on a rainy day, just chalk it up to the door opening a little wider as she ages.
Or you could ask her to "beam you up."
But be careful. She just might.