Some people are weird.
I was speaking about my Nanny the other day.
They found this confusing as I was going into details about how rural parts of our province have historically struggled financially in contrast with the wealth generated in cities.
The comment I heard?
Why are you talking about being poor when you were raised with a ‘Nanny’?
They thought that I was some bougie bastard from a wealthy family who employed someone lesser to wipe my arse so my mother wouldn’t have to sully herself with my shit.
That was not the case.
In reality?
My ‘Nanny’ became a grandmother at forty years of age.
She was far too young to be a ‘Granny’ as far as she was concerned.
Instead?
She took the title of ‘Nanny’.
Simple eh?
But it’s fun to think that perhaps instead of washing dishes at the Keg during spring break, I traveled to the family chateaux at St Moritz.
And?
Instead of scraping together years of savings to study abroad with oddball clown teachers, I merely dipped into my trust fund.
Who could complain really?
I’ve been lucky.
I still get to sit on the swing in the long afternoons.
I have a great family and a nice place to live.
Sure, you too may not have been born with a silver spoon in your hand.
But look around you.
Life is good.
You’re probably pretty fucking lucky to live as you do.
And if you can’t recognize this as you reach and grasp at silver spoons,
Reach lower.
There’s likely a horseshoe stuck up your arse that you’ve had there so long you’ve lost touch with how lucky you are.
Squeeze it out you fools…
