There’s a network of undercover agents who I affectionately think of as the aunty network. It’s a network because if one agent (aunty) gets information (gossip) it is disseminated to all her associates rather rapidly. They make the CIA and MI5 look like children playing at getting information.
I do my best to avoid run-ins with the aunty network but sometimes even my ninja skills aren’t enough to save me. I do get cornered especially at family events or even when I’m just walking along admiring the blueness of the sky. For example, there was the time that I should have done a cartwheel instead of stopping to talk and be proposed at. The same aunty saw me walking past on another occasion. This time I decided to smile while walking fast as a moving target is harder to hit with verbal bullet fire.
Aunty: Are you coming back from work?
Me: Yes.
[Aunty looks questioning at my rather fetching turquoise track suit bottoms and brilliantly bright pink coat. I do love to leave an air of mystery.]
Aunty’s are great at interrogation but one thing that baffles me is that they are just as evasive as a politician when asked a question directly. My mum often get’s phone calls from her friends. The following has happened to me more than once.
Me: Hello!
Aunty: Hello, is your mum home?
Me: No. Can I ask who is calling?
Aunty: Aunty.
Me: Please could I have your name.
Aunty: It’s Aunty.
I honestly don’t understand why they won’t give me their name but it does amuse me, as I think they assume I must know who they are.
Long live the Auntys and the power of a good questioning.
story tale anecdote 